


Throw Yourself at the Ground and Miss

by cakeisnotpie



Series: Clint and Phil FTC (Fuck the Canon, I Do What I Want) [4]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Wings, Druids, M/M, Magic, Magical Tattoos, Multiverse, Romantic Soulmates, Soulmates, Tattoos, Wingfic, Wings, shieldmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-02-19 17:49:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 40,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13128738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cakeisnotpie/pseuds/cakeisnotpie
Summary: He's definitely not their Phil Coulson ... tattooed, wearing leather, all muscles and magic. Just what is Clint supposed to do when he realizes he's attracted to the guy from another universe who looks like his dead best friend?  With another 'end of the universe' attack pending, there's not a lot of time to figure it out.Or, what if one of my AU type characters crashed his way into the MCU traditional world? And how many tropes can I work into one story?Set after The Avengers when Phil Coulson is "dead."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, so this was going to be a one shot then I started writing scenes with dogs and I knew I was lost. When I start falling in love with the world building, it's going to be longer. Rather than wait until it's finished, I'm posting part one on Christmas Eve as a present for everyone. Going out of town for a bit, so I shooting for part two to be up in two weeks. 
> 
> I think I've got everything in here but the kitchen sink. Having fun putting them all together. Hope you enjoy.

"The Guide says there is an art to flying", said Ford, "or rather a knack. The knack lies in learning how to throw yourself at the ground and miss.”   
  


Douglas Adams

The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy

 

 

 

 

“This had better be good,” Tony groused as they entered the conference room. “I was right in the middle of the sweetest upgrade to the inertial dampeners …”

 

Stephen Strange swirled with his usual dramatic flip of cape and magically blowing hair. Damn showman, that’s what he was, and Clint should know; he grew up in a circus after all. Next to Strange, back to the doorway, stood a man dressed entirely in leather. Tight pants hugged his muscular legs, worn and faded, a second skin that skimmed over a great ass.  The vest was the same color and sleeveless, leaving hard biceps and delineated triceps on display.  But the punch in his gut was the ink covered tanned skin, elegant winding lines that crossed and curled, vibrant shades of red and orange mixed with dark browns in images of birds and wolves and snakes.

 

“What’s the situation, Stephen?” Steve asked, taking his place in front of the group. “You said top priority.”

 

The second man turned and Clint froze. Every thought melted from his brain like ice on a hot day; for all he’d seen -- and he’d seen some seriously impossible shit -- he’d never been prepared for something like this.

 

“Phil?” Steve took one step forward. “Oh my God. It’s you.”

 

“Captain.” The man … because despite the fact he had those brilliant blue eyes, strong chin, and curve of cheek, he was not Phil, killed-by-Loki, self-sacrificing idiot, best-of-them-all Agent Coulson … closed the distance and clapped Steve on the shoulder. “That Steve Rogers exists in this universe is a comforting thought.”

 

Crinkles at the corners of his eyes as he smiled, not the same goofy grin Phil got when he was around his childhood hero, but a lessening of tension with a touch of relief. Not that Steve being good in all the possible worlds was surprising; Steve’s moral compass was one of the few constants Clint believed in.

 

“This universe? You’re Coulson from another world, eh?”  Tony sauntered closer. “Let me guess: you either drive a rusted out muscle car on a desert world or ride with a bunch of horse lords.”

 

Not-Phil’s shoulders went back, his face shuttered, emotion tucked away behind a blank gaze. Shifting his stance, his hands dropped to his side, inches from the dagger tucked into a thigh sheath.

 

“Anthony Stark.”He inclined his head ever so minutely. “As talkative as ever, it seems.”

 

Even when Phil had been at his badassed pinnacle, he’d still be his nerdy self, an everyman who could throw a punch, half-surprised he was in the situation. Not-Phil, on the other hand, exuded danger, a man ready to react and handle whatever was thrown at him, and, damn that was hot as hell.

“I don’t think he likes me.” Tony pouted, lips pursed for a full second before he laughed. “I must be an asshole in your world.”

 

“Only thing my Tony Stark cared about was Tony Stark,” Not-Phil replied. He didn’t hold out his hand or make any move towards Tony. “I shall reserve judgement until I know more of you.”

 

“Okie dokie, definitely not our Phil.” Tony raised an eyebrow. “Scary Phil it is.”

 

“I imagine there are many differences; remember the water universe’s Johnny Storm?” Bruce said.

 

Not-Phil’s gaze turned to Bruce, sizing him up in a glance while keeping Tony in his six. “You, I don’t know.”

 

“Dr. Bruce Banner.” Bruce offered his hand; Not-Phil shook it. “I work with Steve and Tony.”.

 

“He might know the Big Guy.” Tony jumped in. “Green, angry, smashes a lot? Hell on shirts?”

 

With a tilt of his head, Not-Phil lasered in on Tony, letting silence unspool as his reply.  

 

“Geez, you’re a hard crowd to please,” Tony grumbled. “Must be the language barrier … hey, how are you speaking English anyway? Sci-fi shows can get away with everyone being fluent but not in real life. Tell me you have some tech that does it for you? A universal translator? Babble fish?”

 

“Magic.” Not-Phil said, ignoring the rest of Tony’s questions to survey the remaining people in the room. “Natalia Romanova. Good..” He inclined his head, a slow bow from the neck up without relaxing, ready for any possible reaction. “We will need your skills.”

 

“It’s Natasha,” she replied, shifting her weight back and leaving more space between them. Nat was good at that, picking up non-verbal clues and responding. Clint usually followed her lead. “Natasha Romanoff.”

 

“Ah.” Those blue eyes finally fell upon Clint; the corners widened, he huffed a little breath and let a tiny smile flick across his lips. “Barton. Of course; can’t have one without the other. I am glad to see your familiar face.”

 

He offered his hand and Clint had to take it. Palm slid across palm, calluses catching on the smooth skin of the inner wrist. Warmth flowed up his arm, strong fingers squeezed ever so lightly. Clint let out a slow breath then drew in the scent of evergreen, earth, and salty sea.

 

“Why?” The word slid between Clint’s lips. “Why are you here?”

 

“Right to the point.” Not-Phil withdrew his hand and Clint’s fingers felt the chill. “I am Philip James Coulson, Druid Prime of the Rowan River Grove, Left Hand of Lord Nicholas the Furious, and Knight of the Order of the Shield. I have come to warn you of a pending invasion of your world.”

 

* * *

 

“We called them the rinjigna.” Philip  explained. “They are ruthless, intelligent, and nigh on unstoppable. We know little about them; they don’t have a language nor any communication that we could discern. What they are is pure destruction; they kill but take nothing, leaving mangled bodies behind.”

 

Swinging his feet  up in the nearby chair, Clint crossed his ankles and leaned back; he could still feel a phantom tingle where Philip had touched his hand.  Only half-listening, but catching it all, Clint watched the man’s body language, trying to get a read on him.

 

“As far as we can tell, a magical experiment went wrong and tore an opening in the veil between worlds. A mage was working with …” The word he spoke made no sense. “Sorry, the translation spell has trouble with technical terms. He was working with a crystalline structure, attempting to change the form of energy …” He paused again then raised his hands; with a few muttered words, he traced a string of numbers in the air, a mathematical formula. “This was the last entry he wrote down in his journal before the explosion.”

 

Long fingers danced, hypnotizing Clint.  Blunt nails, the left ring finger slightly crooked at the tip, weathered skin from time in the sun and the outdoors. On his right pointer, Philip wore a copper ring, a simple band inscribed with ornate scrollwork.  Tattooed letters ran along both middle fingers and a circle quartered by a thin cross was on the back of his right hand.

 

“Neutron radiation,” Bruce said.  “Fission? You have fisson capabilities?”

 

“I don’t know what that is,” Philip replied. “We can make energy change form; I do it with the natural flow of magic that exist in all living things. Others use different sources but do the same.”

 

“It is similar to what I do,” Stephen added. “And, yes, it is very volatile.”

 

“So this guy blows a hole in your universe then  these things come through?” Steve summed up the science and got them back on track.

 

Not exactly a smile, but the corner of Philip’s lips twitched up on one side. A small scar bisected the left eyebrow and moved as he relaxed his forehead.  A pock mark rode just beside the curve of his nostrils, flexing as Philip exhaled.

 

Ignoring the science bros, he replied to Steve. “Yes, on all counts. We thought the first incursion contained, but one slipped away and opened another doorway. Their chitinous skin deflects sharp blades and lessens the force of other blows.  Even magic does little damage; it is like chipping away at a rock with a knife.  Then we learned that they adapt, change.  What worked before didn’t work a second time; more and more of them poured into our cities and towns, destroyed our fields before we could harvest them.”

 

“How did you get rid of them?” Natasha asked.

 

He closed his eyes for one long exhale; clenching his hands into fists, he leaned his arms against the table, lines becoming delineated where muscle met bone. Tight triceps and large biceps flexed, tattoos shifting.  A snake wrapped just above his elbow, crawling slowly upward through a field of scrollwork. If he stared long enough, Clint swore the tongue flicked out and back in.

 

“We didn’t. They opened portals faster than we could close them. The best of us fell in battle. The only option was to shut ourselves off from other worlds, sever our ties to the between space. It was a momentous task; the energy needed would take our three greatest mages and druids.  Plus, someone had to be on the the other side of the door to seal it shut.”

 

“That was you.” Clint knew the answer before he spoke. “You took one for the team.”

 

Sadness floated into the blue pupils, frustration tightened his voice.

 

“It was necessary. And once the incantation began, they realized what we were doing and attacked in earnest.  We expected them, surrounded the circle with as many fighters as we had, but no one thought they’d be in between as well. I was barely able to set the seal before they were upon me. Only through the intervention of Stephen and his companion Wong am I alive today.”

 

“You can’t go back.” Giving the thought voice made a chill run up Clint’s spine. Self-sacrificing idiot, just like Phil. Some things never changed.

 

“I watched my friends and my Liege die. I saw those who had worked against me get killed by the Rinjin Ga. There is nothing to go back to.” He shrugged, half lift of shoulder, half wince of his eyes. “I should have joined them, but my path diverged.”

 

“You think they’re coming here.” Steve looked around the table. “Why?  With all the multiverse to choose?”

 

A quick glance at Stephen … some secret to keep probably, knowing the Sorcerer Supreme … then Philip responded. “Because you are about to do something that gets their attention. Aren’t you, Stark?”

 

“Me?” Tony bleated when all eyes turned his way. “Hey, I’ll have you know I’m not working on anything dangerous or controversial, just a couple of updates for Rhodey’s suit and tweaking the Tower’s arc reactor for more efficiency. With everyone sponging off my good nature, we could use more backup power.”

 

“I’d call the reactor upgrade more than a tweak, Tony,” Bruce said.  

 

“It’s safer than a motorcycle.” Tony winked at Steve. “There’s more risk riding over to Brooklyn.”

 

“But the outcome of a mistake with the reactor could wipe out the whole city,” Bruce countered.

 

Throughout the back and forth, Philip sat down, easing himself into a chair and favoring his right side.  For the first time, Clint noticed the bruises on his right shoulder, the way he held his left shoulder still.  Dark spots covered a part of his neck, dried blood interspersed with tiny black and blue marks.  Scratches, four of them in a row, ran along one forearm.

 

“Are we supposed to believe you know the future?” Natasha spoke up, interrupted the ongoing discussion of how many ergs an explosion would generate. “Or is this one of Strange’s visions?”

 

“We saw them massing around the door to your world; they’re waiting for a foothold,” Philip said. “What time we have should be spent in preparation, learn all we can from your sages and sorcerers.”

 

“Sages and Sorcerers?” Tony repeated. “That would be us, I guess. Steve, you want to contact Thor, see if they know about these things?”

 

“Dr. Banner might want to see the body we have at the Sanctum,” Stephen offered. “Between science and magic we might learn more.”

 

“I’ve got a contact with the Inhumans,” Natasha pushed away from the table and stood up. “I’ll see what they know.”

 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Clint protested. “Are we just going to trust this guy? I mean, come on, he walks in looking like Phil and we give him the keys to the tower?”

 

“He’s not using any tech; Jarvis scanned him,” Tony said.

 

“He’s not using magic to alter his appearance,” Stephen added. “And I saw him fight the creatures.”

 

“Look, Loki’s a shapeshifter. This would be his twisted sense of humor, sending a Phil look alike just to fuck with our minds.” Clint had no doubt the green wearing bastard would do it.

 

“Loki is on the watch list; I would know immediately if he set foot on our world,” Stephen assured him.

 

“And we’ll keep an eye on him,” Steve said. “If Bruce goes with Stephen, Nat checks her sources, we should also check in with Xavier and Richards. Tony, do you want …”

 

“Oh, God, not Reed. I’ll take Charles. At least he’ll offer me a glass of scotch.” Tony stood up too. “You get the Rubber King.”

 

Steve nodded. “That leaves you, Clint, to get our guest settled; he may need medical attention and definitely some clothes that blend in. Have Jarvis assign him a room and stock it up.”

 

“Hey, no, why do I get babysitting duty,” Clint protested.

 

“You brought it up.” Nat bumped him on the shoulder. “Squeaky wheel gets the job; Coulson’s rule 47.”

 

“I am never speaking up again,” he grumbled as the others gathered up their things and left the room. Then it was just him and Philip and he had to say something or risk looking like an even bigger jerk than he already was. “So, what do you want to do first? Hit medical? Shower? Eat? Sleep?”

 

”I healed the worst of my wounds; ‘tis bruises, nothing some rubbing salve won’t clear up.” He followed Clint out into the hallway. “The bathing room would be a good start then food?”

 

“Yeah, that’s easy.” The elevator opened and Clint ushered him inside. “Jarvis, are any of the guest rooms ready for use?”

 

“The remodeling is not complete on floors 94-97;  one room has recently been vacated on the 98th. I shall have it cleaned and stocked within the hour.”

 

Philip glanced around the small space. “Who is that? And are we moving?”

 

“Ah, yeah. Better than stairs, right?” Clint had no clue how to explain artificial intelligence to a guy who called himself a druid. “Jarvis is a computer … a program that Tony wrote … “

 

“If I may, Agent Barton?” Jarvis interrupted.

 

“Please. I’m out of my depth.” Clint stared at the numbers as they changed.

 

“Do you have machines in your universe, Druid Coulson?” Jarvis asked.

 

“You speak of water wheels and fulcrums? Or the more advanced mechanisms of magic like illuminary globes and power engines?” Philip replied.

 

“Indeed. I am a creation of Master Stark; my protocol is to provide information, run Mister Stark’s homes, and aid him with his projects.”  

 

“Ah, I see. Yes, many mages have sylphs as helpers. They are creatures of pure energy without form; most can only do the simplest tasks, but I have seen ones more powerful than many humans.”

 

The doors slid open; Clint led them to his apartment. “Did the Stark of your world have one of those? I can’t imagine Tony in any iteration, not having his Jarvis.”

 

“Stark’s sylph was named Ariel; a trickster sprite that none could rival in abilities.” Philip walked to the wall of windows and stared at the vista of the city. “What a wondrous place this is; I had thought it all metal and glass, but I see green. ‘Tis good to know you are not completely cut off from nature.”

 

“Central Park.” Clint glanced at his watch. “At this time of day, it’ll be filled with kids in strollers, old people playing chess, and lunching office workers.”

 

“All I need is a patch of dirt, a tree, and source of water,” Philip said as they entered Clint’s bedroom. “Communing should take about …” the next word came out garbled; he paused, huffed, and tried again, “... I don’t know how you tell time. On my world, we could the turning of the planet as a primary unit, from light to dark and back again.”

 

“We call that a day.” Clint led him into the bathroom. “Each day is broken into 24 hours, which have 60 minutes, each minute with 60 seconds. The Earth takes three hundred and sixty five days to circle the sun; we call that a year.”

 

Philip drew figures in the air, not exactly numbers but in the pattern of equations. “If my calculations are correct, we would have thirty of your hours in our day and a year is four hundred and seven days. So I would need … approximately an hour and a half.” Philip stopped and looked around. “This is your bathing room?”  He touched the edge of the soaker tub and peered into the shower stall. “Water falls from these nozzles? Ingenious. Do you heat the water too? I’ve seen spells that will do that.”

 

“Yeah, just push the on button and set your temperature …” Clint looked at the space aged silver panel. “Better yet, Jarvis will get it ready for you. Just tell him to turn the head up or down.  There’s shampoo in that blue bottle and a bar of soap just below. Towel and wash rag are one the warming rack.  I’ll rustle up some clothes for you to wear while you shower.”

 

He left Philip alone to figure out the rest. Browsing through his closet, he pulled out two pair of jeans, one that was a little tight on him and another that was a little loose. A clean pair of white briefs and a grey Under Armour tee worked with a black SHIELD hoodie. Hunting out a bottle of Tiger Balm, he threw it on the bed by the clothes; somewhere in the living room was a tube of arnica cream. Only took a minute or two to find it on the end table near the TV remote.

 

“This material is very interesting,” Philip said. “Heavy and yet natural fiber.”

 

“Denim. Everybody wears it all the time. Blue jeans, we call …” Clint came to a halt at the sight of one gloriously naked body standing right in front of him.  

 

Droplets of water still clung to his shoulders and in the curls of dark hair scattered across his chest. A colorful tattoo, a circle of cursive letters, lay below the vee of his collarbone, at one end of a diagonal scar that cut through the right nipple. Tight pecs led to abs -- seriously defined abs -- and another tattoo, a belt that circled his torso, black lines knotted and unraveled to create pouches and a sheathed knife. On his left hip, a colorful needlepoint scabbard lay flush along his muscular thigh; on the right was inked a quiver, thatching riding just above his hip bone. Clint couldn’t stop himself; the dark thatch of hair drew his eyes to Philip’s cock. The man was hung, a perfect handful … or mouthful.

“Oh, um, ah …” Clint turned away, warmth pooling in his gut. “Yeah, so, we tend to wear clothes. All the time.” Flashes of skin and ink filled his brain. “I mean, not all the time, not when we shower or take a bath. And some people sleep in the nude, but most wear pajamas or something.”  He knew he was running on but he couldn’t stop. “Well, of course, nudity’s okay for having sex.”

 

“That is what you call it? Having sex? It seems so bland for such an intimate act,” Philip interjected.

 

“Sex is a generic term. Some people think that’s even too much and use making love or sleeping with.” Clint snorted. “Like not saying it will stop kids from doing it. Then there’s all the off-color terms, the kinds you don’t say in front of your mother; fucking, screwing …” His palms were sweaty, the words sticking on his tongue. “And talking about sex while you’re naked is way too awkward …”

 

“I am no longer skyclad,” Philip said. A knowing half-smile played across his lips when Clint turned around. “My body seemed to bother you.”

 

“Nah, it’s not … I’m just …” Too much bare skin was still on display, even if Philip was buttoning up the pair of jeans.

 

Taking the shirt in one hand, Philip ran his fingers along the seam and stretched the fabric. “Such fine weaving, so soft and smooth.” He bunched it up and raised his arms to put it on, ducking his head and twisting to the left … and Clint caught his breath, fixated on the image before him.

 

Browns mixed with oranges and whites in the wings, each feather outlined in dark sable and so realistic they appeared to flutter as Philip pulled the shirt over his head and down his torso. The tips were hidden beneath the waistband, the top curve just below his shoulders, feathers caressing him along his sides.

 

“Shall we take food to the park? I can eat while I restore my energy.” Philip sat down to pull on his boots, tucking the jeans into the brown leather. “It will shorten the time I need.”

 

“Food. Yeah. Um ... “ Clint blinked. “The park? You want to go to Central Park to … What are you going to do? Oh, God, don’t tell me you have to get naked and do some sort of ritual or something, ‘cause that’s not going over very well with the NYPD.”

 

“All I need is a patch of earth, a tree to lean against and some water nearby. No nudity is necessary, but it is more fun that way.” The grin blossomed and Philip continued. “There are fertility rituals that require some interesting … positions.”

 

“Fertility … right, you’re teasing. I’m slow on the uptake today.” Clint shook his head and grabbed a ‘49ers cap from his dresser. “In my defense, the whole Phil look alike thing is very distracting.”

 

Philip followed Clint back to the elevator. “It is disorienting for me as well; one moment you’re exactly like the Barton of my world and then you’re not at all the same. You have a better sense of humor, I must say.”

 

“Smartass, that’s me.” Clint was getting familiar with the tiny wince when Philip didn’t understand a word or phrase. “Sarcastic little shit? Pain in the ass? Mouth that won’t stop?”

 

“Malapert. Means someone who is is always impudent and disrespectful to authority. Although, I do like smart ass; very descriptive.” Philip chuckled. “My Barton is anything but a malapert. More sullen and silent to everyone but the Widow. They matched each other well.”

 

“I can see me turning out that way. Fortunately, Phil found me early enough and helped me get some shit figured out.” It still hurt when he thought about Phil, even two years later. “Then I brought Nat in from the cold. We were a team, the three of us.”

 

As the elevator doors slid open on the private lobby, Philip gazed in wonder at the glass and metal beams. Beyond the windows, traffic flowed in a steady stop and start stream, yellow cabs mixed with buses and bikes weaving in and out.  The sound of the city grew louder until they emerged from the building; Philip stopped and stared.

 

“I had no idea. Strange opened a gate for us to get here; this … this is beyond anything I could have expected.” A digital billboard down the block changed to a Calvin Klein ad with a brief wearing Justin Bieber. Someone whistled for a taxi and another car braked, setting off a cacophony of horns.

 

“Yeah, the city can be overwhelming.” Clint took him by the elbow and guided him along. “I’m a country boy, born in Iowa where corn’s the number one crop. New York’s an acquired taste.”

 

“So not all of the world is like this?” Philip dodged around a businessman with a bluetooth carrying on what sounded like a salary negotiation.

 

“Nah, cities are just as small part. Lots of forests and oceans and swamp and desert. We got all climates.” Clint scanned the trucks parked along the side of the road. “Hey, is there anything you don’t eat? You being a druid type, do you eat meat?”

 

“Eating flesh of animals is part of the natural way,” Philip answered, distracted by mannequins in the window of a Gap store.

 

“Good.” Clint wove his way over to the Tacos y Quesadillas truck. “How about spice levels? You like it hot or mild?”

 

Philip cocked his head. “Some food is better warm, others cold.”

 

“Yeah, no, I mean how much it burns in the back of your throat. You have peppers, vegetables, that when you eat them clear out your nose and make you sweat? Some are about yea big, others are tiny.” Clint made a circle the size of a bell pepper then shrank it down. “Jalapenos, chipotles, adobe, ghost peppers …”

 

“Capsaicin. It’s very useful for combating a number of illnesses and wounds. Also very tasty.  We have a hosho that is so powerful even the strongest of men cry when they eat it.  Personally, I like hosho, but not too much.” He studied the menu board as they got in the relatively short line.

 

“I’ll get a variety; you can try different ones.” Clint eyed the choices. In the end, he stuck with fairly safe picks like carne asada, carnitas, chicken, and beef, mixing tacos, quesadillas and a burrito each.  Two bottles of water and a gatorade for him and they were back on the move, Philip asking questions as they put blocks of sidewalk behind them. Arriving at the park, Philip immediately stepped off into the grass, ignoring the looks from other visitors.

 

Clint headed for the ramble, where the path wandered through trees and across Gill Creek; the azalea pond made for secluded pockets. He didn’t worry about muggers or other pests; they looked for easy targets and Clint made sure he broadcast badassness loudly.  

 

“Ah, yes, this is perfect.” Philip found a spot out of view from the path and sat down between the roots of a tree to pull off his boots and socks. Rubbing his feet over the grass and leaves, he wiggled his toes  leaned against the trunk, and heaved a sigh. “I can already feel the energy seeping in.”

 

“Okie dokie, whatever.” Clint plopped down where he had the best sight lines then opened the bag of food. “Here’s a burrito, two tacos, and quesadilla.” He passed the food over. “And a bottle of water.”

 

Philip held the plastic up to the light. “You buy water in containers when there’s a stream right there?”

 

“Yeah, well, you don’t know what’s in that water, do you? No boiling this way.” Clint unscrewed the top of his, careful to let Philip see how he did it. “Tastes better too.”

 

After his first swallow, Philip nodded in agreement. “I see what you mean. No worry about poison or other fungal infections. I could get used to that.”

 

They ate in silence, Philip’s full attention on every bite. He’d hum when he tasted something new, unroll the tortilla and find the specific ingredient, take a bit of it alone, roll it on his tongue, and savor the flavor. The food disappeared steadily until only a bit of burrito was left.

 

A squirrel darting down the tree, chittering excitedly as it paused, nose twitching.

 

“You are brave, little one,” Philip said. He fished out a couple pieces of chicken and held them up between his fingers. “A reward for your daring.”

 

It stuffed them in its mouth, chewing a mile a minute. When it was finished, it chittered some more then darted up and across a limb, disappearing into the leaves.

 

“You got played,” Clint told him. “The squirrels here aren’t afraid of anything.”

 

“Oh, I know, but it never hurts to stroke their ego.” Philip laughed. ”Even the smallest beings are important.”

 

“Now you sound like Phil. Rule 4: flattery will get you everywhere,” Clint said. “He made an art out of being normal and unassuming. People always underestimated him.”

 

“You were close.” Philip wrapped up his leftovers, crossed his legs and began combing through the grass with his fingers.

 

“Yeah. Phil was ... “ Clint paused, scrabbling fo the right words. “He could be the goofiest guy one minute then kick someone’s ass without breaking a sweat. He put up with my shit when no one else would. Gave me second chance after second chance. He had terrible taste in food and knew the best coffee joints in every town. He was one of the two people I trusted to have my back, no question. When Loki shoved that spear in his back …” The pain still too raw. Despite all the talking to therapists and well-meaning advice, Clint knew that he had to bear part of the blame for Phil’s death. “It’s like a chunk of me died with him, if that makes any sense.”

 

“Indeed it does.” Two small pebbles appeared in his hands; he began to rub them between his palms. “It’s not unusual for shieldmates to still sense the one who has gone before.”

 

“Shieldmates?” Clint thought about it. “I like it. That’s a good word for what we were. Nat, Phil and I, we were a team; I love Nat like a sister, but Phil … it was like we could read each other’s minds, know what the other was about to do. Make us a hell-of-a-combo, that’s for sure.”

 

The pebbles circled fingertips, around and back again. “A partnership to be envious of; I am sorry for your loss.”

 

Silence fell, Clint caught up in a circle of recriminations.  Philip transferred both stones to his left hand and began drawing circles with his right on the ground. A tangible calm settled on them; Clint’s anxiety faded, good memories floating to the surface. Phil on the hunt for a rare trading card, eating stale doughnuts, watching Supernanny. The three of them cooking in a safe house, fresh ingredients in a fragrant stew. Camping in the Allegheny Forest, a week without phones or missions or reports to file. So much good, so many years of having what he thought impossible,  his own makeshift family.  That was worth having for however long he could.

 

Scanning the area, Clint caught the slightest sway of a low bush; a black nose sniffed, brown hair almost hiding the brown eyes. “We have a visitor.”

 

Philip turned his head and smiled. “No need to be afraid. You can come out.”

 

A small dog emerged, dirty and bedraggled, hair matted, blood caked above one eye. Philip unwrapped the leftover burrito and laid out some bits. Once in the clearing, Clint could see it was a Shih Tzu with a collar around its neck, a silver tag hanging down.

 

“You belong to someone, don’t you, fella?” Clint said. “Let’s see …”

 

The dog skittered away from Clint’s hand, jumping into Philip’s lap and tucking its head into the bend of one knee.

 

“No need to fear Barton.” Philip scratched behind the dog’s ears. “He’s trying to help get you home. Can he see?”

 

Tilting his head up, the dog gave Clint a clear view of the words etched in the metal. Taking out his phone, Clint dialed the number listed.

 

“Hello?” A woman answered.

 

“Do you have a dog named Oscar?” Clint asked. “Brown and white shih tzu?”

 

“Oh my God.” She gasped. “Did you find him? We’ve been looking everywhere! The kids haven’t stopped crying and I didn’t know what else to do … Is he okay? Where is he?”

 

“He’s hungry and dirty, but none the worse for his adventure,” Clint told her. “We’re in the ramble at the park …”

 

“That’s just a few blocks from here. I can be there in ten minutes; where can I meet you?”

 

“Strawberry Fields?” Clint suggested.

 

“I’m on my way. Oh, I can’t thank you enough.”

 

Clint hung up; Philip scooped up the pup and stood. “Hey, I can take him if you need to …”

 

“I’m fine; just need some sleep and I’ll be right as rain.” He rubbed Oscar’s chin, calming the dog as he headed for the trail. “Your world is filled with untapped power; it’s like a fine whiskey. A little goes a long way.”

 

Gathering their garbage, Clint stuffed it in the bag. “We’re pretty happy with it,” he said, launching it at the nearest refuse container, a perfect shot through the small round opening. “At least, most of us are. A few malcontents who want to blow shit up for fun.”

 

“That doesn’t change, does it? Always a few.” Philip sighed. “At least I understand why they do what they do; the Rinjigna make no sense.”

 

“Some people just want to see the world burn.” Clint shrugged. “Met a few of those in my lifetime. They’re not the kind you reason with, they’re the kind you stop.”

 

“And that’s your job, yours and the others. Protecting the world from threats. You’ve put aside your differences to work for the betterment of your fellow humans. That’s quite a feat.”

 

“That was Phil’s last gift. Crazy bastard went up against Loki all by himself; his death was the catalyst for the Avengers.” Clint slowed as the neared the memorial for John Lennon. “Kind of like what you did, sealing yourself off between worlds. We call it a Hail Mary play; take the chance and pray to whatever divine being you believe is out there that it works.”

 

“Oscar!”

 

She dashed up the sidewalk, trench coat untied and flying open, a colorful apron tied around her waist. Flour smudged her cheek and was sprinkled in her brown hair. Jeans, a Star Wars shirt, and a pair of battered clogs covered her body. At the sound of his name, the dog flicked his ears and began wiggling to get down. Before Philip got him halfway to the ground, Oscar jumped and went running right into the woman’s outstretched arms.

 

“Oh, Ozzy, we’ve been so worried!” She buried her face in Oscar’s fur but the dog was having none of the cuddling. He licked and bounced and barked instead. Finally, her eyes fell on Clint. “Thank you so much! I can’t tell you how much this means. We had an electrician and his assistant over, doing repairs, and they left the door open. I thought we’d never see Ozzy again.”

 

Oscar barked as she talked, whipping his head between her and Philip.

 

“I certainly hope you don’t use that workman again,” Philip said. “If he has no respect for animals, I can’t imagine what else he might do.”

 

“Exactly what I told Bob and he called the condo association. Imagine them hiring people that forgetful. They’re certainly not welcome in our home again.”  She held Oscar with one hand and dug the other in her pocket, coming up with a wad of bills. “Here. Let me pay you for your trouble. It was so good of you to call.”

 

Clint shook his head and pushed her hand away. “No need. Just glad to see the little guy home safe and sound.”

 

“Oh, I can’t thank you enough. Thank you. Thank you!” She turned and went back the way she’d come, heading toward a park exit.

 

“Well, that’s enough excitement for the day,” Clint said. “Are you ready to head to the Tower?”

 

“Indeed.” Philip fell in next to him. “It is good to know that the people of this world care about their animal companions. Another mark in your favor.”

 

“We get a little crazy about our pets,” Clint admitted. “Nat’s got a cat and so does Bruce. I’ll arrange an introduction.”

 

“I’d like that.”

  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The invasion begins and Clint discovers that there is much more to Philip Coulson than he could ever imagine. Natasha breaks out the popcorn to watch the inevitable happen. :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crazy two weeks since I posted the first chapter. I'm back now from family visit and can get back on schedule. Going to try for a chapter every week or week 1/2 now that the whole fic is mapped out in my head. 
> 
> Just remember, I did say I was going to see how many tropes I could work in!

“I’m telling you, Nat, it’s like the multiverse has it out for me,” Clint moaned as he followed her off the elevator. “There’s a big target on my back, and Fate is having a field day screwing with me.” 

 

“Only you would see this as a negative thing,” she said with a sigh.  “Come on. I’ll knock some sense into you.” 

 

In the two days since Philip Coulson had crashed into their world, a sense of foreboding had filled Clint, a certainty that things were going to get a lot worse very quickly. Add that to the strange inevitability that settled in Clint’s gut when he thought about Philip, and he was completely out-of-sorts.  

 

After he’d left Philip in a newly cleaned suite to rest, Clint had hit the range, an urgent itch driving him to practice some of his old circus moves, hitting tiny targets while spinning and tumbling. He set the simulator to mimic horseback motion, balancing on a small circle that rotated and rocked. Exhausted and aching from muscles he hadn’t used in awhile, Clint crashed in his bed only to be woken by dreams about a desolate landscape crawling with all kinds of bugs, tiny ones that found their way between his suit and skin, giant ones with pinchers that broke his bow and grabbed for his arms. 

 

During the next day, Clint wandered the almost empty tower when he wasn’t squiring Philip to and from various labs. Reed Richards was no help; while he could theorize about how a tear in the membrane of the world might happen, he had little to offer about the creatures themselves. Of course, he swore nothing he was working on was dangerous; if Clint had a dollar for every time Tony, Bruce, or Reed said that, well, he’d probably still live in the Tower, but he’d have a nice nest egg squirrelled away. 

 

The second night, he dreamt of tattoos that moved under his skin as he flew, wings spread to catch the wind. Winding through giant redwood trunks, racing away from whatever followed, unable to turn his head and look behind. He’d woken on edge and the rest of the day was more of the same. Fury showed up right after Clint had finished his workout, roping Clint into a four hour marathon interrogation session that would have gone on longer if Natasha hadn’t shown up with Karnak in tow. The inhuman priest had brought along some ancient Kree books that he thought might be useful. They decamped to the Sanctum Sanctorum for the rest of the afternoon and evening; knee deep in books and magic, Clint read whatever was put in front of him, searching for the smallest clue until he felt like his eyes were crossed from all the strange symbols. 

 

Throughout it all, he couldn’t shake the hyperawareness of Philip who was never far away.  Since their visit to the park, Philip had been friendly but nothing more. No more walking around naked or talk about sex which should have helped, but only made Clint even more sensitive to his attraction to the man. Every glimpse of ink or flex of muscle caught Clint’s eye. 

 

“Yeah, well, when bad things always happen, you start to expect  …”  He fell silent as he stepped into the gym. 

 

A staff in his hands, a shirtless Philip spun and blocked in an intricate dance of man and weapon. A sheen of sweat slicked his muscles as they bunched and flexed; with a burst of speed, he spun on his heel, staff whipping in fast circles, his body twisting as he struck imaginary targets. His loose pants bore a SHIELD insignia; they hung around his hips and pulled across his thighs. Clint could see Philip’s ass clench through the thin cotton, watch the play of his calves as he planted his bare feet on the mat and brought the staff to rest. 

 

“Good morrow,” Philip said, relaxing his stance and turning his head. “Jarvis said this space was used for practice; I hope it is not inconvenient if I am here.” 

 

“Not a problem,” Natasha replied, tossing her jacket onto a bench. “Clint and I often spar in the mornings; you’re welcome to join us if you wish.” 

 

Clint shot her a look, but he understood what she was doing; Coulson’s rule 32 was to know everyone’s strengths and weaknesses. With foes, you could exploit them. With friends, you could supplement them. 

 

“I would like that very much. If we are to go to battle soon, it is best if we learn to work together.” He spun his staff and grinned. “Weapons or bare hands?” 

 

“Clint uses a staff.” Natasha picked up a pair of tonfa, spinning them in each hand. “Give us five to warm up and we’ll start.” 

 

As he stretched, Clint tried not to watch Philip go through a range of movements; he was already too distracted by the man’s mere presence. Last thing Clint wanted to do was make an idiot out of himself by tripping over his own toes.  For some reason, he felt the urge to make a good impression, to show Philip just what he was capable of. Maybe it was transference of his need to always prove himself; after all their time working together, Clint had wanted to be the best just to see that look of approval in Phil’s eyes. He didn’t want to think of Phil seeing him under Loki’s control, dying without knowing Clint got free and helped save the city. 

 

“Let’s start with staff on staff,” Natasha suggested. “Clint’s style is a little unorthodox; I’m interested in how the two of you match up.” 

 

“You just want to see me get my ass handed to me,” Clint tossed back. Picking up a staff, he balanced it on two fingers, checking out the weight distribution. “Losing to you every morning is one thing …” 

 

“Suck it up; change is good for you,” she responded with that wicked grin Clint was so familiar with. “Now do me proud.” 

 

“No pressure,” Clint muttered as he stepped onto the mat. 

 

A smile played around the corners of Philip’s mouth. “If you as good as the Barton on my world, I’m the one who will end up with the most bruises.  He was best with a bow, but his staff skills were formidable.” 

 

“Hear that, Nat? At least I’m a badass in that universe.” He spun his staff, settled his hands in the middle and took a fighting stance. “Bring it on, Nature Boy. Let’s see what you’re made of.”  

 

“Nature Boy?” Philip shifted his weight and began to circle to Clint’s left. “So I should call you Bow Boy?” 

 

Clint dodged the tentative feint and rolled right. “Been called a lot worse.” 

 

He stepped back inside and launched an attack; their staves clacked as wood met wood. For the next few minutes, they traded blows, testing each other’s defenses. Philip was good, Clint had to admit, but his style was different, more aggressive. Head, knee, wrists … Philip’s aim was to disarm and knock down. Clint’s training was through martial arts; he used the staff as an extension of his hand, a mix of karate and hapkido he’d cobbled together on his own. One of the benefits of no formal training was doing the unexpected. Jamming the staff into the mat, Clint used it to vault over Philip, twisting in mid-air to land and swing a solid blow at Philip’s back, pulling it at the last second. 

 

“That was … unusual.” Philip leaned against his staff; his chest rose and fell with his quickened breathing and Clint almost lost the thread of the conversation at a drop of sweat poised on one nipple before sliding off. 

 

“Deflection of energy,” Natasha supplied from where she was balanced in a warrior pose. “The goal is to let your opponent exhaust himself to learn his vulnerabilities. You pull to the right and then strike from above. It’s a tell that could get you in trouble.” 

 

“Where I’m from, there’s rarely time to get to know the person trying to kill you.” Philip launched a rapid fire attack, pushing Clint to the edge of the mat as he countered each blow. Only an overextended back bend saved Clint from a disarming blow to his bicep; he tucked and rolled at Philip, knocking his legs out from under him before bouncing back up. 

 

“Power is one thing,” Clint said. “You’ve got that in spades. But don’t forget the rest of your body.” He offered Philip a hand and pulled him up. Inches apart for a split second, Philip smelled of sweat and soap and pine trees. “Flexibility and movement can be just as important.” 

 

“Oh, now I’m getting tips from both of you?” Philip spun his staff from hand to hand. “Well, you’re pulling your punches.” 

 

In a blitz of motion, Philip’s next feint was serious; his staff was a blur as he used it as both defense and offense, quick snaps and smooth circles that left no opening for Clint. Dodging and parrying, Clint kept two steps ahead only because of his acrobatic skills and years of sparring with Natasha. Clearing his mind, he fell quickly into Philip’s rhythm and began to predict where the next strike would come. Somewhere, he lost track of the gym around him, sank into the dance of poles and bodies, and let his awareness of Philip become his conscious focus. 

 

It happened sometimes with Natasha, this perfect unison of motion, but he hadn’t tumbled this far down the rabbit hole before. He’d always known where they were, felt the scruff of foot against mat, the metallic pops of the air conditioning vent. Never with Phil; they’d fought like long time partners who knew each other’s quirks and ticks, but nothing like this. 

 

Breathing synced and their staffs whistled through the air in a strange harmony. Clint didn’t think, he just did, pivoting, spinning, kicking, bracing, and turning. A blur of skin and ink; a flash of blue eyes and quirk of a smile. Knowing, Understanding. Intimate. Two as one. How long they went on, Clint couldn’t say. Only the blare of the intercom brought them to a stand still, staffs crossed, hands mere inches apart. 

 

“We’ve got a lead on our bugs,” Steve’s voice said. “Thor’s in the conference room.” 

 

“On our way,” Natasha answered, tossing them towels from the rack. Hands on her hips, she stared at both. “Don’t think we won’t talk about this little display later,” she warned them.

 

“I’m man enough to admit that she scares me,” Philip said, stepping back. “But she’s not wrong.” 

 

“Rule 3: Always listen to Natasha and you’ll be fine.” Clint shivered as a blast of air conditioning hit his wet skin; whatever had just happened, he was glad to put it aside rather than face it.  “Let her lead, follow, or get out of the way.” 

* * *

 

“Your message caused great consternation in the court,” Thor was saying as Clint slipped into a chair. “When your race is as long lived as we are, facts often mutate into myths.  Few remembered the old tale, much less believed it to be based upon truth. Only Snorri, our historian, knew where to look.” 

 

The man beside Thor was slim and tall, his long hair so blonde it was almost white. Tiny braids snaked around his head, holding the locks back from his face. More like an elf from _ Lord of the Rings _ than an Asgardian, Snorri surprised Clint with a deep booming voice. 

 

“Aye, it was right there in the The Ballad of Regin, albeit hidden in the scop’s song for King Wotan. Only a few lines, of course, but it referenced the Asgardian battle of Tresalator, not by name but with enough details to be sure. Even during those early days, the story of invasion and captivity was already a legend. So I had to dig through other, even older sources and contemporary analogues …” Snorri had just began to warm to his topic when Thor lightly touched his arm. “Right, yes, sorry. It’s just so fascinating how truth mutates. But to the point;  the lines in question.”  

 

He paused and cleared his throat. “When then the King, the great gold-giver and bread-keeper, driven before the wave of chittering creatures, turned to make a stand, whale-road at his back, his loyal thanes gathered around him and they refused to give way. The land lay at waste, the hunger of the enemy knew no end, and the wails of mourning rose to the heavens. ‘Help us, oh, Väinämöinen! You who planted the great tree and gave light to the world!’ … There’s a long prayer here that I’ll skip over despite it’s elegant use of kennings … ‘Creeping o’re the green they came, clattering legs and clicking jowls, a death-wave crashing upon them. Spears cracked, swords shattered, and shields fell. The end of the finnelmark was upon them until the ocean itself rose up, the wind swirled around them, and the earth trembled beneath their feet. Water bonded with wind, earth cradled them, and a fire was kindled that burned the beasts.”  

 

“Sounds like bugs to me,” Steve said with Snorri stopped to take a breath. 

 

“Aye. It’s the last stand at the sea wall that leads me to Tresalator, one of  Búri’s great battles of the Nine Realms. One text says it’s in Vanaheim, another claims Muspelheim. When the great tree was young, creatures of great power and cunning invaded, bent upon destruction. They thought the forces of the Nine Realms too young to protect themselves. They were wrong.” 

 

“Dreasltor!” Karnak spoke up. “It’s a Kree story that sounds just like that. A morality tale from the time when they worshiped the Supreme Intelligence. I’ll have to dig into the archives to find it.” 

 

“Didn’t the Supreme Intelligence detonate a bomb and kill a large number of Kree?” Snorri asked. 

 

“Thus why few worship it anymore,” Karnak replied. “I do not remember the details; I’ll have to return to the library to dig them up.” 

 

“So, just to get this straight, these creatures may have attacked before and somehow been defeated?” Steve scrunched up his nose, a sure sign he was getting frustrated. “Any specifics about how they did it?” 

 

“They prayed to the Great Wizard,” Clint tossed out. “Väinämöinen, the dude from the Kalevala.” 

 

Snorri turned startled eyes his way. “Yes, exactly. You have heard of him?” 

 

Clint shrugged when everyone stared at him. “Tolkien based Gandalf on him. Regin’s from the nibelungenlied, right? One ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them?” 

 

“You are such a nerd,” Natasha said, ruffling his hair. 

 

“Hey, you’re the one who made sit through the whole Ring Cycle in Frankfurt,” he replied. “Who’d have thought I’d like it?” 

 

“Mrs. Jackson two flights up used to play Wagner all the time; “Ride of the Valkyries” meant she was fighting with her husband.” Steve smiled at the memory. “A couple magic rings or swords might be helpful.” 

 

“We need more about how the invasion was thwarted,” Thor declared. “Snorri, perhaps a visit to Vanaheim?” 

 

“Oh, yes!” Snorri clapped. “They have extensive archives of forgotten material. I’m sure I can find something there.” 

 

“And I will visit some of our more remote caches,” Karnak stood.

 

The room came alive with conversations; Natasha cornered Steve, sharing whispered confidences that Clint was sure was about the interrupted display in the gym from the side eyes Steve was giving him. Thor made a beeline for Philip, caught him up in a hug that lifted him off the floor before he sat him down. 

 

“Son of Coul! I did not know you lived! This is such good news.” Thor’s smile was wide and his voice boomed in the room. 

 

“I’m  …” Philip began only to stop when Thor hugged him again.

 

“He’s not Phil.” Clint put a hand on Thor’s shoulder. “Not our Phil. He’s from another universe, their Coulson.” 

 

“Another …” Thor stepped back. “Yes, now I see the difference. Forgive me; Phil was a good friend and I still mourn his loss. I am Thor, son of Odin, Prince of Asgard.” 

 

“Thor. Odin.” Philip glanced at Clint. “And you mentioned Loki? I’m confused; these are names from our children’s stories, wizards and warriors and kings.”

 

“They were myths to us until Thor showed up in Arizona,” Clint explained. “They visited the Earth a long time ago and were taken for gods.” 

 

“We have visited many universes,” Thor added. “Perhaps yours was one many ages ago. When we have time, we could tell me your version of my history.” 

 

“Indeed, that would be …” 

 

The claxon blared; video popped up, Tony’s face in the foreground, a flying woman in black spandex zipping across the frame. “We’ve got an infestation; sending the coordinates. Location is closer to you than to us. Charles’ people are prepping a jet but you can get there first. I’m heading out now.” 

 

“We’re on it.” Steve was already out of his seat. “Thor can fly ahead.”

 

Clint headed to the ready room, taking the stairs, two at a time, Natasha right behind him. Anxious to get into action, he grabbed his tac vest and slid into his uniform in short order. His bow fit perfectly into the palm of his hand, settling his jangled nerves. 

 

On the landing pad, Steve was already in the jet, Natasha firing up the engines. How she managed to get into that skin tight suit so fast, Clint didn’t know; he halfway believed Tony’s story about the suit being part of her genetics.  Striding up the ramp, he swung into the co-pilot’s seat. 

 

“Should we alert Stephen Strange?” Philip asked. Standing in the middle of the jet, he looked cautiously around the interior. “He was very helpful before.” 

 

“Ah, yeah.” Steve looked at both Natasha and Clint. “Perhaps you should stay here …” 

 

“Yes, I understand. I am unknown to you and could be a threat. In your place, I would feel the same. However, as I am the one who knows the most about these creatures, the wisest course of action would be to have me within eyeshot, rather than alone at your base of operations where I could do significant damage.” Philip sat down, picking up the seatbelt and turning the thin material over in his hand. “What is the purpose of these? And how are we to get there in this machine?” 

 

Clint shrugged; Natasha finished the flight sequence. Steve gave up and sat down, slowly sliding the clasp into the buckle. “It’s to make sure you don’t fall out when Nat does a barrel roll.” 

 

Before the ramp had fully closed, Natasha took them on a vertical lift. Hands scrabbling for purchase, Philip hung onto the straps of material, his butt leaving the seat for a few seconds. Banking sharply, Natasha tossed a grin over her shoulder.

 

“Better buckle up, Druid. We’re going for a ride.” 

 

She gave him enough time to get it on the second try before she rolled to the left, straightened, then rolled back to the right. After a vertical climb, she punched it, pressing them all back in their seats. 

 

“It flies!” Philip’s smile was wide with uncontained glee. “Incredible.” 

 

“And faster than walking,” Steve agreed. “For those of us who are earthbound, it gets us where we need to be.”

 

“ETA twenty minutes to Ithaca.” Natasha announced. “The Cornell campus is the epicenter.” 

 

“What’s the news saying?” Steve tapped a button and three screens came on, each on a different channel. 

 

“... fire at Upson Hall where significant structural damage can be seen.  The creatures are spreading across campus; Schoellkopf Field is overrun with them …” 

 

“ … emergency shelter-in-place. Everyone is asked to lock their doors and stay inside …”

 

“ … Campus police have set up a command center at Burns Hall with the Ithaca police and the County Sheriff’s office …” 

 

“Is that …” Steve nodded to a grainy picture from a helicopter. 

 

“Yes,” Philip confirmed. 

 

Pincers like a lobster, long antennae like a cockroach, huge back legs like a grasshopper, and a filigree thin wings of a cicada. Three distinct body parts, each covered in a brown chitinous shell. They lashed out with all six smaller legs, rising up on the hind ones to slash at anything in their way. A goal post fell over sideways, slamming into a section of seats as tufts of grass flew from under the bugs. The watched the growing devastation in silence.

 

“... Dilmon Hill is being evacuated. People are running everywhere, piling into cars to get out of the way …”

 

“They’re spreading fast.” Steve drummed his fingers on his leg. 

 

“Almost there, Cap,” Natasha told him. “We can see the smoke.” 

 

“... is that … Iron Man? No, wait, it’s Thor. Thor’s here! …” 

 

“Can you open the door at this height?” Philip asked. “I can help.” 

 

“It’s a long way down.” Clint looked back over his shoulder. “Steve might be crazy enough to jump without a parachute, but he’s kind of unique and can do stuff like that.” 

 

One edge of Philip’s lip curled up and his eyes glittered with humor as he unbuckled and stood up. “Oh, you have no idea what I can do, Clint Barton.” 

 

A tremor ran through the jet as if the very air outside the metal frame shivered; a golden light glimmered on Philip’s fingertips, illuminating lines of ink as it cascaded up to his shoulders and under his vest. Clint’s ears popped and his stomach felt like he was in free fall for one long second. Blinking, he could barely believe what he was seeing as wings unfurled, brown and white feathers fluttering as Philip tucked them into his sides. 

 

“Open the ramp,” Steve said to Natasha, standing and grabbing his shield. “Can you take my weight? You could drop me in the stadium with Thor.” 

 

“Of course,” Philip replied with a nod. As the ramp lowered, Philip glanced back at Clint and winked. “No idea at all.” 

 

“Wings, Nat. He has fucking wings.” Clint thumped his head back against the seat. “Fuck me.” 

 

“Pretty sure he would if you asked.” She grinned. “Loves dogs, tattoos, and has wings. You are in deep, Misha., and I can’t wait to see what happens.” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep that's the protoype for Gandalf in the Kalevala and the Song of the Volsungs, the poem that Wagner uses for his operas, has a ring that turns people invisible. Can you tell I'm a Tolkien geek? :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our heroes encounter the bugs for the first time, Fate is almost a cruel bitch, and Philip makes his intentions clear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's see, I'm adding hurt/comfort, dirty talk, and a few more tropes in this chapter. Enjoy!

“Philip! Behind you!” 

 

Clint launched himself off a bench and flipped over two bugs, firing his last two arrows between the thorax and the main body of the one about to slash Philip in the back. Tapping his bow on the ground, he turned it into a staff and bashed the bug between the eyes. 

 

“We any closer to closing that rift?” Clint asked into the cacophony of high pitched squeals and continual clicking. “We’re losing ground out here.”

 

A rumble of thunder and Thor zipped overhead, hammer spinning in a metallic blur.  Lightning crackled as Storm hovered over the Art Quad, corralling a mass of the creatures that were trying to break out of the cordon Steve had created. 

 

“Considering the place is on fire … and I mean that literally … I think we deserve a little slack,” Tony shot back.  “Hank thinks it’s biologically based, but I’m going with A.I.”

 

“Don’t give a damn what caused it, just shut it down.” 

 

Another wave of bugs came from between the Space Science building and Clark Hall; Clint barely had time to step closer to Philip before they were inundated with the creepy crawlies. Too many to count, he swung into action without thinking, blocking razor sharp legs and clacking pinchers.  Back-to-back, they fought, falling into the same rhythm they’d had earlier, acting and reacting to each other’s feints. Clint didn’t question, just went with his instincts; he jumped and Philip’s staff whistled by under his feet. He pivoted on his heel and Philip moved with him, switching sides, elbows tapping  as they made a vicious circle of blows around them. At one point, Clint realized they’d switched weapons without him noticing then another bug lunged and he was right back into the fray. Only when the pace slowed and twitching bodies lay strew about the campus walkway did Clint realize how many of the enemy they’d taken down. 

 

“Wow. That was really …” 

 

The leg lashed up from the dying bug, driving deep into Clint’s shoulder, knocking him backward, and splattering blood as the limb came back out. He slumped to the concrete, pain so intense he almost blacked out; his hand, flying up  of its own accord,  came away covered in bright red.  Reeling, he watched Philip unleash a gust of wind that slammed the creature against the nearest wall. 

 

“Clint? Clint?” Philip’s face was in front of his, but he couldn’t seem to focus on it. “Let me see, okay? Let me …” 

 

Clint knew, the same way he knew when he saw Natasha through the scope of his rifle, the same way he knew when no one spoke Phil’s name after the battle of New York.  “One big fucking joke,” he mumbled. “It was all one big bait and switch. The big stuffed animal that I couldn’t win.” 

 

“I’ve got to stop the bleeding…” Philip worked frantically but for Clint, time slowed.  

 

“Fate’s a bitch.” Clint looked up into Philip’s blue eyes, wishing for things he would never have. “Gives me a chance then takes it away.” 

 

Philip cursed, a string of words that Clint didn’t understand but knew the meaning of anyway. “I need water, earth..” 

 

A lance of agony, and Clint was airborne, held tight in Philip’s arms. Each downsweep of wings jostled him, sending more shocks through his body. Then cold water was pouring over him, making him shiver and shake. 

 

“I don’t have time to be gentle,” Philip said, flattening his palm over the wound. “This is going to hurt.” 

 

As Philip began to chant, the words circled around Clint; blood seeped between Philip’s fingers and ran down his hand, covering the first band of ink on his wrist. Vision greying around the edges, Clint swore the tattoos began to move, the head of the snake winding around skin, slithering over Philip’s knuckles and diving into Clint’s wound. 

 

“Fuck!”  Clint bucked as what felt like shards of glass ripped through his shoulder and tore into his chest.  He choked as water poured into his throat; he jerked his head from under the falls.  Warm feathers closed around him, wings forming a barrier. 

 

“Stay with me.” Philip’s voice sounded in his head. “I don’t have time for finesse. Let me in.”

 

Every breath hurt, even the slightest movement a knife of pain, but he’d been here before, close enough to death to kiss it goodnight.  He opened his eyes and focused on the blue irises staring at him, counting the crenellations and flecks of grey.  Silvers of heat unfurled, filtering into his wound and further, filling the empty places and smoothing over old scars. 

 

Worry.   _ You can’t save me _ . Attraction.   _ Bicep flexing and knobby fingers gripped the staff. _ Anger.  _ Going under the flailing legs of bugs, nothing to do but watch the destruction.  _

 

“Philip?” Clint blinked, fighting to the surface of emotions and memories. 

 

“You weren’t shieldmates.” Philip’s eyes widened in surprise. “I shouldn’t have …”

 

More than a series of vowels and consonants, Clint both heard the word and understood through the images that flickered in his head. “Phil and I, we were friends. Partners. Family. Nothing more.”

 

Contentment. Making pasta in a safehouse in Rome, smell of tomatoes, garlic and basil filling the apartment.  Laughter.  _ A pole dancing workshop for a mission in Vegas.  _ Trust.  _ Hanging seventy-two floors above Hong Kong, knowing Phil was coming for him. _

 

“ … closed … gotta … Logan! … Natasha’s down ...”

 

“What’s happening?” Clint’s hand came to rest on Phil’s chest, two fingers brushing bare skin.  With a jolt, he felt himself rushing down his arm and into Philip’s body; for a brief second, he saw himself through Philip’s eyes, then he was pulled away into the rushing flow of the water and out into the churning basin at the bottom of the falls.  Power pulsed around him, turning him in circles then washing him against the bank. He sank into the earth and sensed the vibrations of the battle;  steady rock and cool dirt cradled him, lifted him until he evaporated into the mists that rose, caught on swirls of air.  Static danced around him; down drafts buoyed him up and he soared over the campus.  From his eagle eye vantage he could see it all -- Steve surrounded by a seething mass of bugs, the Hulk trampling through another group, Thor aglow with lightning …

 

He plummeted into his body and was caught by the fluttering wings. 

 

“We shouldn’t be able …” Philip shook the water from his feathers as they stepped out of the spray.  “Later. We’ll talk about this later. As for now …” 

 

“Steve? Tony?” Clint tapped his comm to broadcast.  “We’ve got an idea. Round these bastards up and drive ‘em towards the gorge, to the footbridge near the Arts Quad.  Thor and Storm can fry them once they get in the water and the rest of us can pick off the ones that try to escape.”

 

“A bug boil?” Tony answered. “Yeah, that might do it. Charles? Can you nudge them in the right direction?”

 

A roar went up from the creatures as Professor X stirred them into action; as the scrabbling feet came rushing their way, Philip lifted them onto the footbridge above.  Wings disappearing into their inky home on his back, Philip waved his left arm and arrow shafts pulled free of bodies, flying home to clatter at the toes of Clint’s boots. 

 

“Thought you could use those,” Philip said. 

 

“You are damn useful, you know that?” Clint grinned as he got to work restocking his quiver. “But don’t overextend yourself. I can feel your exhaustion from here; you gave too much to me.” 

 

“Yes, yes I did.” Philip’s eyes turned somber. “I hope you will forgive me.” 

 

“Nothing to … here they come!” 

  
  


Like a Biblical hoard of locusts, the bugs charged towards the edge of the rocky crevasse; some tried to take flight, and Clint let fly the first arrow, spearing one with an exploding tip so it dropped back into the mass before it blew apart, taking two more with it. Others headed for the bridge; planting his bow’s end on the concrete, Clint gave in to his inner geek and shouted loud enough to be heard over the din. 

 

“YOU SHALL NOT PASS!” 

 

With Philip beside him, they created a barrier with their staves, forcing the bugs over the railing or back onto land.  The Hulk tossed whole armfuls into the water below as Logan, Natasha, and Scott Summers kept them corralled and moving forward with sweeps of Scott’s vision ray.  Tony dropped Steve on the opposite side, and the two of them knocked down any that tried to crawl up that way. 

 

“Light it up!” Clint shouted. 

 

Lightning streaked down, electrifying the creek and causing a dense mist to rise. Squeals rose in pitch; with Storm’s wind driving them back against the falls and making it impossible to fly out, the bugs were trapped in the quickly heating gorge, a makeshift oven of warm stone and boiling water.  All three elements worked together, allowing no escape. 

 

“Oh, God, that smells …” Steve blinked, his eyes watering as he crossed the bridge. Smoke filled the air, and the stench of overcooked meat wafted across campus.  “... like when Tony tried to make lasagna that time.” 

 

“Hey, now, it wasn’t that bad. I kind of liked it crunchy.” Tony hovered above the ground. “Hank and I are going to see what we can recover from the lab;  playing with dimensional portals isn’t exactly a freshman science project.”

 

“I’m going hunting for strays,” Logan said.  “Last thing we need is more of these swarms.”

 

“I’ll join you.” Steve tucked his shield on his back.  He put a hand on Clint’s shoulder. “Make Natasha rest. She banged up that same knee again.”

 

“Like she’ll listen to me.” Clint felt the wave of exhaustion wash over him; from the corner of his eye he saw Philip lean ever so slightly on his staff.  “Hey, Nat! Steve wants you to rest, okay?” 

 

“I will if you two will.” Natasha limped as she came forward. “Philip’s asleep on his feet.” 

 

“I can fly you back,” Scott offered. “Professor X wants to convene at the school, pool our resources.”

 

Clint offered Natasha an arm, but she refused, walking back under her own power. Now that the battle was done, he was losing energy himself; the trek back to the jet took what was left. By the time Clint found the first aid supplies and settled in the seat beside Natasha, Philip and Bruce were asleep, Bruce wrapped in a solar blanket.  

 

“Don’t think I didn’t notice this.” Nat fingered the hole in his vest. “Or the dried blood on Philip’s hands.”

 

He wrapped her knee in a cooling bandage. “Yeah, that. For a second there, I thought the Fate was going to have the last laugh.” 

 

She understood, as she always did; Natasha got him on some freaky deep level like no one else. That was why he’d known she wanted to come in, that sex was off the table, and that they were capable of being so much more than lovers. 

 

“You can have good things,” she murmured, catching his fingers with her own. “Hell, you deserve them.” 

 

“I know that. I’ve got you, haven’t I?” He squeezed her hand. “And … maybe, just maybe … there might be more.” 

 

“He might be more,” she corrected. “Whatever’s happening between you … anyone can see it in the way you were fighting out there … it might be worth the risk.” 

 

And that’s what it was all about, wasn’t it?  Clint had trusted Phil, let him become family, and look where that had ended up. Enough blame to go around and a missing place in his heart.  

 

With a sad smile, Natasha leaned into him, shifting around until she could prop her knee up and use Clint’s shoulder as a pillow.  The painkillers she’d dry swallowed started to work and she closed her eyes; Clint slipped an arm along the back of the seat and let his own head rest on wall, the vibrations a soothing motion.  

 

The sleek ship sliced through the air, wind rushing along the outer hull and swirling in a wake behind. Only a few moments of silence, and Clint drained out of his body, through the metal and into the stream. Propelled into motion, he spread his wings and flew circling over the Adirondacks, lower and lower, until he was skimming over a lake, feathery body reflected in the tousled water.  With a little splash, he dived, slipping under and growing scales. His legs fused and he was swimming, curling through a forest of green leafy plants that were anchored to the rocky bottom. Twin wooden poles appeared in the dim filtered light; he surfaced by the ladder that climbed to a dock, paddling to the shore and jumping up the bank to the eaves of the forest.  Four padded feet ran along a winding path, his ears flicked back as he listened to the rustle of leaves in the trees. A rabbit darted in front of him; he was poised to give chase when a whistle called him back. At a gentle lope, he passed the cabin and came up beside the man sitting on the wooden stairs. 

 

“You are not yet ready for this,” Philip said, fingers finding the perfect spot to scratch under Clint’s jaw. “Travelling is dangerous for the untrained, and it is easy to lose your way.” 

 

“Travelling. Is that what I’m doing?” Clint settled down beside him and pulled a bottle of beer from the nearby cooler. “I was going with dreaming.”

 

“It is a nice location,” Philip smiled. “Very restful.”

 

“This one time, Phil and I were sent to infiltrate an A.I.M. facility in the middle of a national wilderness area. Had to hike in for two days to a cabin, real rustic, no power, no cell service, nothing. Always said I was going to buy a place like this to retire.” Clint kicked his feet out and crossed his ankles. “Not that I believe I’m going to get that far. Job like this is hard on life expectancy.” 

 

“Aye,” Philip agreed. “I came to terms with my death before I stepped through the rift; I never thought to be here.”

 

The horizon turned crimson, the sun sliding out of sight.  Clint shivered as the temperature dropped, his tank top too thin and his swimsuit damp.  A mosquito bit him on the shoulder; he slapped at it, but another then another demanded his attention.

 

“Clint.” Natasha shook him. “We’re here.” 

 

“Umph.” Clint tried to clear his head, but the fuzziness of sleep wouldn’t let go. The jet was empty except for the two of them “I’m gonna find a bed.”

 

“Yeah, well, shower first. You smell ripe.” She gave him a swat on the shoulder and limped off.  

 

Jean Grey pointed him to the guest wing and an empty room. He made it up the stairs without tripping, each foot a leaden weight;  he felt like he’d been awake for days, more tired than he should be after the fight. Why was Charles’ house so damn big?  It took three turns and another set of stairs before he found the right hallway, but he knew which door was his because Philip was leaning against the wall next to it, waiting for him. 

 

“Right. Talk later. You actually meant it.” Clint unlocked the door with the key Jean had given him. “Thought I might try the ‘ignore it and it will go away’ method of handling shit that happens.”

 

“In that, you’d be the same as the Barton of my world.” Philip followed him inside and waited until the door was firmly closed before continuing. “I know you are exhausted and rest is the primary concern right now, but I need to apologize formally before I can sleep. It’s the way of my order; the longer a wrong is allowed to fester, the worse the infection becomes.” 

 

Clint laid his bow on the bureau and dropped his quiver in a chair. “Apologize? For saving my life? Because as far as I see it, that’s what you did. The rest of it, well, you were just as surprised as I was.” 

 

“Lack of knowledge is not an excuse for violating you.  The first law is the separation of natural things; by forcing a connection in order to heal you, I broke the boundaries between us and must beg your forgiveness.” Philip drew a small dagger, held the metal in his hand, and offered the hilt to Clint. “Take this that you may cut the ties created and be single instead of plural.” 

 

“Okay, let’s see if I’ve got this. You’re talking about the sharing thoughts and flying thing? That was a byproduct of how you saved me, so, yeah, I forgive you. And I’ll add my thanks too. Keep the knife; I’m good.” He sat down in another chair and started taking off his boots. “I get that you thought Phil and I were sleeping together, like, married. Easy enough mistake to make; when you asked if we were Shieldmates, I took that to mean partners, friends, co-workers. Not lovers. My bad.” 

 

“Not marriage or lovers,” Philip corrected him. “Mates are rare and sacred; it is a joining of mind, body and soul to become more together than apart. Few find another so well-matched that a bonding is possible, and even fewer attempt it.  The danger of losing yourself, giving it all away to the other as you join, is very real.”

 

“That’s what you were worried about? That I’d, what, fly off on the wind and never come back?” Clint huffed at the thought. “Trust me on this one, I’ve been through some seriously shitty stuff in my life, including having a wannabe godling take over my brain, and I’m still me.  Not gonna happen.” 

 

“Perhaps, but that does not negate the fact I shoved my way in and forced the first connection.” Philip offered him the knife again. “Please, take this as an offering of my contrition.” 

 

Clint snatched the dagger from his hand and threw it in one smooth motion; it quivered from the force as it landed in the dead center of the headboard. “Fine. Break the chain or whatever. Heaven knows that no one’s going to use the term sacred in the same breath as my name. I suck at relationships, so consider yourself lucky.” 

 

“Wait.” Philip grabbed Clint’s arm as he rose and started towards the bathroom. “Let me be clear.  Now that I know you are untied and open, I have every intention of pressing my suit.  I want to taste every inch of you, hear your sighs, and know the curve of your lips. On fresh sheets, against a tree, on the sand, under the falls … so many places to bury myself inside you up and make you scream my name.”

 

“Ahhhh.” Clint’s brain, already running on reserve energy, short circuited. “Yeah, that sounds … I mean … um … sure. That’s good. Dating first, maybe?” 

 

“Yes, we will continue this arousing dance tomorrow, when we are both at full facilities.” Philip said.  “When I get you naked and writhing beneath me, I’ll know you made the decision unreservedly and freely.” 

 

“Well, fuck, you even make consent hot as hell.” Clint shook his head, his brain awash with erotic images.

 

“And for the opening foray,” Philip said. “A taste of things to come.” He tilted his head and closed the distance until their lips met. 

 

Nothing tentative, nothing held back, Philip kissed like he fought, full-on and full-out. He slid his hands around Clint’s face, buried his fingers in Clint’s hair, and cradled his head as he delved into Clint’s mouth. Like waves washing up the sand, the pressure of Philip’s lips came and went, tiny breaths between, infinitesimal shifts of skin on skin, little licks of tongue. Beneath the onslaught, all Clint could do was part his lips and let Philip in, swallow down his moan of pleasure, and hang on to the anchor of Philip’s arms.  

 

Then the ripples began, flickers of Philip’s feelings, his lust and desire and pent up need. Ink began to creep up Clint’s fingers, circling his knuckles and writing Philip’s name on the back of his hands. What Philip felt, he felt; what Clint felt, Philip felt. Multiplying exponentially, a simmering pot rising to a boil. Stronger than a riptide, more solid that rock, more powerful than the west wind, Clint gasped as Philip broke the connection and stepped away. 

 

“Holy hell,” Clint murmured. “That was …” 

 

“Yes, it was,” Philip answered. “And why I’m going to my own bed rather than share yours tonight. We will burn ourselves dry if we’re not careful.” 

 

“But what a way to go.” Clint grinned. “Might be worth it.” 

 

“Oh, it will be.” Philip opened the door. “So much more than you know.” 

 

Despite his raging hard on, after a quick shower, Clint crawled between the sheets and fell immediately into a deep sleep, dreaming of flying and swimming and running and kissing and burning with Philip Coulson. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As if Philip hadn't made his intentions clear, he decides a date and flirting is a good way to be obvious. 
> 
> Clint calls a guy he knows for some advice about the bugs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter took a long time because I just kept adding to it and couldn't figure out how to make Philip stop being so damn sexy. All the places mentioned exist in New York City. I added links so you can see the specific items. I took liberty with the walking distances and ignored the insane prices 'cause Tony wouldn't blink either. :)

“Do we know anything of the creatures’ homeworld?” Storm asked from her place on the comfortable couch in Charles’ office. “It might help us understand their behavior.” 

 

Clint shifted in the plastic chair someone had dragged in from a classroom, polishing off the dregs of coffee in his paper cup and reaching for the last bite of the onion bagel he’d salvaged from the food table. Running late had left him with little choice; he’d slid into the last open seat as Charles was completing the introductions. 

 

“ … no evidence of hive mind or a central intelligence …”

 

Sitting in an armchair across the room, Philip glanced his way, raised an eyebrow then turned his attention back to the conversation. His powerful thighs were clad in yet another set of sweatpants, grey this time with Xavier’s school motto running down the side. He’d kept his vest, at least, rather than a matching t-shirt, so his tattoos on full display. 

 

“ … is tracking one but it seems to be jumping from one place to the next, leaving a staggered trail …”

 

Tracing the snake as it curled from elbow down to wrist, Clint’s eyes roved the inky patterns and vibrant colors. What looked like an arm guard was a deep leathered brown, yellow gold stitches weaving in and out around the edge, the center a twining mass of ivy, green leaves wound together into a stylized letter C.  Bands circled underneath the guard, each one filled with intricate lines of brilliant blue and pewter grey. The snake slid through them all, head hidden in the ivy. 

 

“ … someone through the rift to do reconnaissance.” Charles rolled back and turned his chair towards Philip. “Were you successful in infiltrating …” 

 

The leaves of the tree on Philip’s bicep shook, ever so slightly, but Clint’s attention hadn’t wavered and he was sure they moved. 

 

“It’s a difficult endeavor,” he replied. Roots quivered and shrank in size. “Once they are through, the rift closes; three of our best fought their way to the epicenter and crossed over; they did not return.” 

 

“But you went through,” Steve said. 

 

“A tear we ourselves opened into the between,” Philip explained. 

 

Was it Clint’s imagination or were the lines that made up the bark of the trunk changing? Under the overhanging eaves of long branches that reached all the way around Philip’s bicep, smaller animals hid that looked like birds and mammals and insects. A spectrum of forest life sheltered in the trees boughs; a whole world lived on Philip’s arm. 

“So, they can open and close a rift … how? They don’t carry and devices …” Hank McCoy went off on the topic of insect bodies and Clint quit listening.  How they did it wasn’t his problem; once the sciencey types figured it out, they’d tell him where to shoot. He was more interested in how to stop them. Using the gorge to boil them, that was his type of strategy. Use what he had at hand and get it done. Leave the whys and wherefores to the thinkers.

 

A warm tickle of amusement stroked his spine; one side of Philip’s lip turned up as he caught Clint’s eye. And just like that, Clint felt the phantom press of lips, the tingle of fingers along his jaw.  He tumbled into the memory, slipping along the sightline and into Philip’s thoughts; from his seat, Philip could see the expanse of gardens beyond the window. In a blink, Clint’s toes wiggled in his boots, the sensation of cool grass so real that he could swear he could feel it. His palms pressed into the bark as he grabbed a limb and swung up into a sprawling oak tree. He straddled the branch, swinging his feet and relaxing into the breeze that stirred the leaves. The last dregs of sleep blew away as energy flowed through him like sap through the tree. 

 

“ … nothing more than basic animalistic thoughts when I tried to make contact.” Charles’ voice came from far away. “No individual initiative, just survival, hunger, and the desire to destroy …” 

 

Philip’s arms circled his waist, his chest solid and comforting behind Clint’s back, so Clint let his fingers pick a pattern and follow it along Philip’s forearm. Antlers emerged, leading back to a stag’s head. Black lines outlined the body then bled into a series of curlicues that filled the space around the animal. As Clint traced his tattoo, Philip leaned in, his exhale warming Clint’s neck; relaxing, Clint let himself go boneless, trusting his weight into Philip’s hold. 

 

“... maintaining a perimeter is almost impossible unless we are there when the rift opens …”

 

The beating of Philip’s heart permeated Clint; he slowed his breathing, matching the easy pace with his own. Above his head, a small bird launched from the branch, gliding away from the tree. A line of ants marched along the underside of the limb in a weaving line, busy with their own agenda …

 

“Ants.” Clint jerked back into his body; the others turned. “I know a guy who might be able to get some answers. Dude deals with ants …”

 

“If you mean Antman, no one’s heard from him since Wasp disappeared,” Charles said.

 

“Actually, I was talking about the guy who came up with the miniaturization process used in the suit. He’s retired now, but still one of the most knowledgeable sources for info about insects.”

 

“Hank Pym?” Tony raised his eyebrows. “He and Howard didn’t get along, to put it mildly. Don’t think he’d take my call.” 

 

“I can contact him; Phil introduced us a few years ago.” Clint shrugged. “He’s an eccentric scientist; got a little bit of experience dealing with those types.”

 

“Ha, ha.” Tony tossed a pencil at him; Clint snatched it out of the air and hurled it right back. “Very funny, bird brain. You just want an excuse to take Hottie McHotterson over here back to the Tower and have your wicked way with him.” 

 

“Perhaps I’m the one who is wicked,” Philip tossed into the conversation. 

 

“Why Druid Dan!” Tony spread a hand on his chest. “You kinky bastard!  How very not Phil of you.”

 

“I’m heading back as well,” Steve interrupted. “I’ll update Reed Richards and see about chasing down a few others who can help.  Natasha? Stay or go?” 

 

“I’m with you,” she said. “I need to check in with Karnak.” 

 

The meeting took another twenty minutes to adjourn, people breaking into small conversation groups. Clint tried to slip out the door, but Charles beat him to it, blocking his way. 

 

“A moment, if you don’t mind?” Charles rolled through the opening; Clint followed, glancing back to see Philip behind him. Opening another door, Charles took them into an empty classroom. 

 

“Why do I feel like I’ve been called to the principal’s office?” Clint quipped. 

 

“I believe he wants to ask about our bond,” Philip answered. “He is worried about my effect on you.” 

 

“Very astute.” Charles looked up at Philip, unfazed by the height difference. “You are exerting influence upon someone I consider a friend. What have you done to him?.” 

 

“Hey, I’m not …” Clint started to protest, but Philip waved his hand.

 

“You suggest I would harm Clint?” Philip drew himself up and glared at Charles. “I would never do such a thing. Best be careful where you tread; my mind is my own and you will find it inhospitable to any attempts to enter unbidden.” 

 

“I saw you yesterday fighting on the bridge, and this morning you were both far afield during our discussion.  The last thing anyone wants is someone playing with Clint’s mind again,” Charles replied. 

 

“And you think he would be so easily fooled that I merely look at him and he falls under my control? You truly don’t know him then. He is more than capable of protecting himself; perhaps you should ask him why he has accepted my suit?  He is deserves much better a mate than I can be.” 

 

“Um, I am in the room, people.” Clint stepped in between the two men. “First off, Charles, while I appreciate the concern, can we not keep bringing up Loki? I’m am so done with that bastard, and it pisses me off that everyone thinks I’d be that easy to compromise again.” 

 

“I didn’t mean to imply that you were.” Charles turned his chair towards Clint. “Nor have I been dipping into either of your minds; I don’t need to. Your connection is obvious.” 

 

“Soul bonds are impossible to hide,” Philip agreed. “You do not have such things on this world, I take it. Of course, you would wonder what is happening.” 

 

“Okay, now that we’ve settled that,” Clint said. “Philip saved my life; I’d be dead as a doornail if it wasn’t for him. That’s good enough for me right now.”

 

“I have gotten too used to meddling in my students’ lives,” Charles admitted with a laugh. “Forgive me for overstepping my bounds. I would, however, love to have a long conversation about how Philip’s magic works and learn more about his world including these soul bonds.” 

 

“I would enjoy that,” Philip replied. “And you can tell me of mutations.” 

 

“Good. That’s settled.” Clint shot a look at Philip. “Because the second thing is me setting you straight about this strange notion you have where I’m some sort of badass or something. That’s your job, to kick ass and take names. I’m just along for the ride.” 

 

“Along for the ride?” Philip scrunched up his nose and looked quizzically at Clint. “As in you are not driving the wagon, merely riding? I have seen you fight, heard you craft strategy in mid-battle, felt you soar on wings you don’t have. You chart your own course, Clint Barton. I am proud to sail under the same wind.” 

 

A blush warmed Clint’s cheeks; he bit his lip to keep a goofy smile off his face. “Look, can we table this for later?  I need to call Hank Pym and see what I can find out.” 

 

“He truly doesn’t know, does he?” Philip asked Charles. 

 

“He doesn’t.” Charles agreed.

 

“Oh, for God’s sake.” Clint shook his head. “We can’t all have Tony’s ego; someone has to be humble.”

 

* * *

  
  


 

“Pym sending his daughter and some other guy,” Clint said. “They’ll be here in the morning on the red eye; he refused to use one of Tony’s jets. Seems the hatred was mutual between him and Howard.” 

 

Steve added another layer of ham and cheese to the sandwich he was making, a tall dagwood creation that was already leaning to one side. “Starks have a way of pissing people off,” he agreed, balancing sliced tomatoes and lettuce before he put the top slice of bread on. “At least he agreed to send help. Did you know his wife died in an accident? That’s what made him ultimately leave the company.” 

 

“Yeah, and his daughter is working with the young guy Pym handed the reins to; they had a falling out a few years back.” Clint pulled out a stool and sat down, it was still early for him to be hungry, but Steve ate every two hours like clockwork. “This kind of life just isn’t conducive to having a family or a relationship.” 

 

“I wonder sometimes, what would have happened with me and Peg.” Steve sighed as he poured a glass of orange juice. “Maybe both of us being in the same line of work would have helped.” 

 

“Didn’t for Bobbi and me.” Clint shrugged, his mood circling downward. “Ah, well, that was never going to work anyway; we were too much alike to not implode eventually” 

 

“This is about Philip, isn’t it?” Steve took the stool across the counter from Clint. “I’m not great at reading people, but even I can see the heat waves coming from you two. Is it the fact that he looks like Phil? I can see where that would be awkward.” 

 

“And I’ve only known him for four days, so all this talk of soul bonds and promises of earth shattering sex seems a little premature.” 

 

Steve paused, sandwich halfway in his mouth, eyes widening; he took a bite, chewed and swallowed before he spoke. “Why do I suspect the earth shattering part isn’t just a metaphor?” 

 

“Pretty sure he said he’d rock not just my world but everyone’s.” Clint chuckled. “Better keep our hands to ourselves around the San Andreas Fault, eh?” 

 

“Tony would hate it if you destroyed the house in Malibu,” Steve replied with his own laugh. He took another bite then cocked his head, his eyes going serious. “A piece of advice, take it or leave it.  You think you’re saving yourself the heartache by not taking the risk, but the truth is, regret is much more painful. Wish I could go back and make a different choice. I’d still be alone now, but I wouldn’t be stuck wondering what if.” 

 

“Did everyone get together and decide I needed to get laid? This is starting to feel like a universal conspiracy,” Clint said. 

 

“The invasion a universal?” Philip came through the doorway. “I was thinking the same thing.  If people made songs and ballads, it must have been widespread and significant enough to remember. I wonder what other worlds might offer in the way of solutions.” 

 

“Difficult to determine.” Steve stood like he always did when someone entered a room. “We’ve no way to communicate across the multiverse.” 

 

“Mention it to Tony, and I bet he’ll come up with some way to do it.” Clint pulled out the stool next to him. “You hungry? It’s early for me, but I’m sure I could rustle up something.”

 

“Actually, I wanted to ask you a boon.” Philip stopped a few steps away. “Since this world is now my home, I need to make some purchases. Clothes, necessities … so many things. Would you be willing to accompany me?  I have to determine the local currency and how to exchange the few coins I have, as well as advice on which store to patronize. I will buy you a meal, of course, since it will take most of the afternoon, and we can get to know one another better.” 

 

“I think he’s asking you on a date,” Steve said, sitting back down and picking up his sandwich.  “Shopping and lunch is a good first outing.” 

 

“Thank you, Dad, I got that on my own.” Clint stood up.  “First stop will be to get you an Amex black card; all Avengers expenses go on them.  We can take it from your pay.” 

 

“Pay?” Philip looked surprised. “You are given payment for helping others?” 

 

“If you’re an Avenger, you get a room, all the food you can eat, and a salary. So we don’t have to worry about having a roof over our heads or what happens when we can’t fight anymore.” Clint tried to think of a better way to explain it. “Like a soldier or a guard. You have those, right?  They train, prepare, and go into battle. So do we.” 

 

“But I’m not one of your team,” Philip protested. 

 

“I seem to remember you being in the thick of things yesterday,” Steve chimed in. “That makes you an Avenger.” 

 

“I … I don’t know what to say.” 

 

“Take the money and run. That’s what I do.”  Clint clapped him on the back. “Let me put on my boots then we’ll head out.” 

 

With basics in mind, Clint took Philip to  [ Diesel  ](http://shop.diesel.com/home?lang=default) first; his  [ favorite jeans  ](http://cdn02.cdn.justjared.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/01/renner-diesel/jeremy-renner-diesel-black-gold-fashion-show-in-florence-05.jpg) were from there. Stopping just inside the glass doors, Philip shot Clint a slightly panicked look, the rows and tables of artfully folded clothing spreading out before them in the sterile white decor. 

 

“He’s looking for some jeans and shirts,” Clint told the slim twenty-something salesclerk when he approached. “Airline lost his luggage, so he needs underwear and socks too.” 

 

“Happened to me once,” the guy said, nodding in sympathy. “Going to need a jacket too; weather’s taking a turn for the colder in the next day or two according to the Weather Underground. Come on, I’ve got just the thing for his body type.” 

 

What followed was an hour of pure torment; of course, Philip had to try on four different styles of tight fitting, ass hugging jeans before he found one he declared comfortable. He called Clint into the dressing room for help with the zipper on the first pair and, if that didn’t get Clint’s pulse pounding in his dick, when the clerk suggested Philip tuck in one of the simple white button up shirts, Philip didn’t bother to duck behind the curtain, unzipping in front of the three mirrors, smoothing the shirting under the denim with slow motions. By the time they bought three jeans, a pair of khakis the clerk had talked Philip into (and which fit him like a glove), two button ups, three of the softest henleys in various shades of blue to match Philip’s eyes, Clint was at half-mast, shifting in his own jeans. 

 

“How cold does it get here?” Philip asked, stopping in  [ front of a window ](https://s3-media1.fl.yelpcdn.com/bphoto/zE5fZKJa1sHISEH4im82kw/o.jpg) to look at a display of motorcycle jackets. He’d opted to buy a [ grey military field jacket ](https://www.ebay.com/i/253384708741?chn=ps) at Diesel because of all the pockets and the hood. “Leather is so easily magicked, and the shop proprietor did say everyone needs one.” 

 

“You have good taste.” Clint held open the door. “This place makes the best ones in town.  Been checking out about getting a new motorcycle one. May as well try it on, right?”

 

“Indeed. I would like to see you in leather,” Philip said as he passed Clint. “Just leather.” 

 

Shaking his head, Clint followed him inside. “Jesus, you’re an incorrigible flirt.” 

 

“I don’t know what that means.” Philip turned his head and flashed Clint a grin. “But, yes, I do intend to keep you off balance; that’s the fun part of courting, is it not?” 

 

“Fun, my ass.” Clint nearly walked into a rack of jeans. “Distracting is what it is.” 

 

“That too,” Philip agreed. “Plus, it makes shopping a more pleasurable an endeavor.” 

 

The whole place smelled of leather and watching Philip slip his arms into the sleeves of a  [ brown nubuck leather biker jacke ](https://www.schottnyc.com/products/oiled-nubuck-leather-biker-jacket.htm?color=2&catID=5) t was like a scene from Clint’s own private porn fantasy. As he zipped it up, Philip bit his lower lip, turning the simple motion into a sensual glide, his eyes locked on Clint’s. 

 

“What do you think?” Philip asked, fingertips roving over the distressed leather. “It’s so soft.”

 

“It suits you.” Clint couldn’t lie; he was imagining how it would feel against bare skin. “You should get it.” 

 

“What about you?” Philip raised an eyebrow, then turned to address the clerk. “Clint’s looking for a … what kind did you say? One for a cycle?” 

 

“You are so bad,” Clint said with a laugh. “Yeah, a motorcycle jacket. Simple lines, not a cross zip, something cleaner.” 

 

“How do you feel about dark cherry?” The young woman stepped over to a rack and pulled out one. “Based upon a design made for British soldiers in World War II; slim fit, mandarin collar … it’ll look amazing on you.” 

 

It was love at first sight. Clint felt the weight settle on his shoulders, the perfect amount of snugness around his waist, and immediately knew the  [ cowhide racer ](https://www.schottnyc.com/products/casual-racer-jacket.htm) was coming home with him. “Oh my God,” he breathed as he stroked his hands over the softness. “I shouldn’t …” 

 

“Just think of how you’ll feel when I strip it off of you,” Philip murmured in his ear, coming to stand just behind him. “And spread you out on top of it.”

 

“That’s playing dirty,” Clint whispered back. 

 

“Dirty?” Philip waggled his eyebrows. “I don’t mind a little dirt under my nails.” 

 

The sales clerk blushed furiously, pretending to be busy rehanging the discarded jackets.  

 

“Oh, God, I’m going to buy it. I’ll blame you when the bill comes.” 

 

A few blocks over was  [ REI; ](https://edenphotography.us/wp-content/uploads/rei_cs_soho_nyc_08.jpg) Clint lost Philip to the camping gear section three minutes after entering. At least the store offered delivery; by the time they’d picked up a pair of Nikes, some Timberland hikers, sweats, under armour, and the mound of devices that ranged from a compass to a handheld GPS, there was no way they could carry it in one trip. 

 

Then they hit Target in Herald Square, and Clint helped Philip pick out toiletries. He made sure to explain in detail the different types of condoms and lube, waxing poetic about which one he preferred. After a moment of surprise, Philip took his time deciding, finally tossing three different brands of each in the cart without a hint of embarrassment.

 

Seeing a motorcycle on the street, Philip insisted he get gear to learn to ride on Clint’s Triumph.  At the  [ Harley Davidson ](http://www.insidebusinessnyc.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/05/harley12.jpg) store, Philip straddled three different bikes, fingers tightening around the handlebars, smiling as his eyes wandered up and down Clint’s body. Finally, Philip settled on a pair of  [ biker boots  ](https://www.nycharleydavidson.com/collections/mens-footwear/products/h-d-axel-boots) and l [ eather chaps ](https://www.nycharleydavidson.com/products/h-d-distressed-leather-chaps) that made Clint’s mouth water and his libido go into overdrive.  

 

They stopped at a little diner for juicy burgers and crisp fries where Clint introduced Philip to the joy that was bacon. Talk flowed easily as they shared stories -- Clint about the first bike he rebuilt and Philip about how he decided to become a druid. They drank thick shakes but skipped desert in lieu of a bakery stop later on.

 

Last on the list was a visit to Suitsupply to find something more formal than jeans; when Philip walked out of the dressing room in a  [ slim navy suit with a plaid vest and matching tie ](https://us.suitsupply.com/en_US/pre_order_suits/havana-navy-plain/C1231I-S.html?cgid=pre_order_suits) , Clint tossed his hands in the air and gave up. The man was a clothes horse; everything he put on looked sexy as hell. If he asked, Clint would blow him right there in the store. 

 

Heading back to the Tower, their purchases sent ahead in a car or being delivered, Clint ducked into  [ Ferrara’s ](http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-bfDlFSYvGYA/UbyIucoLFsI/AAAAAAAATTo/szzsri_q4gg/s1600/7099349639_c85d430911_b.jpg) for cannoli. Two could play this game, he decided, watching the clerk put the pastries in a white box. Nothing like sucking the creamy filling and licking the cookie clean to get the juices flowing. The both agreed they’d finished for the day … at least until Philip saw the rows of books outside  [ The Strand ](https://3apq7g38q3kw2yn3fx4bojii-wpengine.netdna-ssl.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/07/504687994_the-strand-bookstore-750x500.jpg) ; eyes alight with wonder, drawn inside by the smell of old ink and coffee, he ran a hand over the cracked spines of used paperbacks. Clint ordered a cup, found a battered edition of Ursula K. Le Guin’s  _ Wizard of Earthsea _ , dragged a chair into a corner, and settled in to read as Philip explored the bounty around them.  He’d wander back to add books to the growing stack on the floor with titles like  _ Wild Animals of North America _ ,  _ A Herbalist’s Guide to Traditional Cures _ , and  _ Trees of Appalachia _ .  After an hour, Philip went through the pile and picked out six, setting the rest aside.  Clint added his novel and they checked out, Clint carrying cannoli and Philip with the books. 

 

“Did you hear that?” Philip stopped and peered into an alley; shadows pooled around dumpsters and bags of garbage next to back doors of various shops and restaurants.  He took a few steps forward. “It’s coming from down there.”

 

“Um, yeah, that’s a good way to get mugged.” Clint followed, keeping an eye out for trouble.  “Big cities have their share of bad eggs.” 

 

“Mugged?” Philip tossed the question over his shoulder. “Bad eggs?”

 

“Robbed by bandits?” Clint tried. 

 

Philip chuckled. “I think we can handle ourselves, don’t you? Ah, there you are.” He pushed aside a mound of used bubble wrap and revealed a  [ tiny grey kitten ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/a8/58/a4/a858a4cadb31c4a2a06be3dd36f08423.jpg) , its paw caught in a broken storm grate.  “Just a moment, little one, and I’ll have you free.” Wet and bedraggled, the kitten gave a pitiful mewl; putting down his bag, Philip swirled his fingers over the animal then flicked them away.  “Let’s start by freeing you from those pesky parasites; they can find a new home. Then we’ll lift this iron and …” The kitten tumbled in its haste to get away from the offending grate. “Where is your mother? Are you …”  Philip scooped it up, cradling it close to his chest. “That is outrageous!  Where are they?”

 

“You’re really talking to it aren’t you?”  Clint asked.  “Like carrying on a conversation.”

 

“Of course.” Philip arched an eyebrow.  “She told me she was abandoned here, left to die and she’s concerned about her siblings; they’re behind this large metal container.” Philip tugged on the dumpster; with Clint’s help, it moved enough to see three more kittens huddled together. “Who would do such a thing to living beings?” 

 

Slipping out of his brand new jacket, he zipped it up and folded it, handing it to Clint. Then he picked up the first kitten with  [ black and grey ](http://parkin09.wikis.birmingham.k12.mi.us/file/view/8.jpg/140789375/8.jpg) fur, flicked away the fleas, and tucked it inside.  A  [ ginger calico ](http://www.catnipcamera.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/04/DSCN2773.jpg) followed, and a  [ black with some grey splotches. ](http://www.victoriangardenscattery.com/uploads/2/9/0/2/2902588/174748.jpg)

 

“We’re missing one.” Philip ducked to look under the dumpster. “Lighter grey, almost blue, with some … Oh, hello. How did you get up there?”

 

Perched high up on the iron railing of a fire escape,  [ the kitten meowed ](http://dollfacepersiankittens.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/10/1f9a2797ed.jpg) loudly in reply, clinging with all four paws. 

 

“I’ve got him,” Clint said. He passed over the jacket full of squirming bodies and put the cannoli on top of the book bag. Jumping, he caught the last rung of the unfolding ladder, climbing up to the first platform. “Come on, junior. Let me get a hold on you …”  The kitten catapulted himself at Clint, sinking its claws through the cotton of his thermal shirt. “Aw, shit!”  He tried to catch the bundle of fur but it was faster, tumbling down his leg, landing on the platform then making an epic jump onto the cannoli box, turning it on its side as the kitten rolled off and ran for Philip. 

 

Landing on his toes after climbing down, Clint stalked over to where the kitten cowered behind Philip’s leg and crouched down. “You little shit, let me get all the way up there then get down yourself?” 

 

He wasn’t expecting the cat to launch itself at him. Using its tiny claws, it worked its way to Clint’s shoulder and then perched on his head, kneading Clint’s hair. Philip broke out in laughter, pressing his lips together to keep it in. 

 

“This is not funny,” Clint told him, finally getting a handful of fur and lifting the kitten up by the scruff of its neck. “You hear me, little dude? You are not cute. Not cute at all.” 

 

One tiny paw bopped Clint on the nose; Philip laughed even harder. 

 

“Fine. I’m obviously on my own, so here.” Clint put zipped up his jacket further and tucked the kitten inside. “Stay.” 

 

“You’re bleeding,” Philip told him, his eyes sparkling. He juggled the kittens into the crook of one arm so he could stroke just under Clint’s ears. 

 

“Damn it, cat scratches are filled with bacteria,” Clint groused. “Almost as bad as paper cuts.” 

 

“I’ve seen you get stabbed in the chest and a swipe of a kit’s claw makes you complain?’ Philip chuckled. “And here I thought you were ... what did you call it … a badass?”

 

Without thinking, Clint stuck out his tongue. “See? Complete tire fire. That’s me.” 

 

Philip’s lips were half-laughing, half-claiming as they settle over Clint’s. A last ray of sunshine broke through the buildings, and Clint felt his heart lighten with a wash of contentment. Soft edges of desire fluttered along his spine and leaked into his head to mix perfectly with the lift of his mood. 

 

“I assume that was an invitation,” Philip murmured against Clint’s mouth.  “Kissing and laughing should go together.” 

 

“Merp!” The kitten in Clint’s jacket stuck its head out. “Murow!” 

 

“Yes, yes, I agree,” Philip answered. “Shall we go home?”  

 

Turned out finding homes for the kittens was easier than Clint thought.  Alberto, one of the guards at the private entrance of the Tower, had promised his daughter one for her birthday and hadn’t made it to the cat haven yet, so he gladly took the black and grey tabby; Hawkeye was her favorite Avenger, so having a cat he had personally rescued? Alberto would be father of the year. 

 

Pepper came in just as they got in the elevator.  “Oh, kittens! You wouldn’t believe it, but just yesterday my PA was talking about getting an office mascot; animals help with stress levels and make people feel more relaxed.”

 

“This one has the same color hair as you do,” Philip told her, passing the ginger over. 

 

“The S.I. mascot … Simon! That’s what we’ll call him.” She smiled. “You should see if Bruce wants one of the others; he was telling about a cat he kept while he was in Kuala Lumpur. And the Big Guy loves animals.”

 

Bruce was in the media room with Steve, deciding what to do about dinner. He immediately connected with the black and white kitten; Steve surprised Clint by taking the the littlest, the one that had been trapped in the grate.  All the excitement over the new residents meant a trip out to get litter boxes and food; somehow they came back with scratching posts and towers to be put together and enough catnip toys to keep the kittens high for a week. While out, they picked up Thai food; Clint didn’t warn Philip about Bruce’s high spice tolerance. Watching him fan his mouth and drink a whole glass of milk after Philip tried Bruce’s drunken noodles made Clint laugh so hard he almost fell off the couch. They shared the cannoli between the four of them, Clint loudly sucking out the cream and making Steve blush bright red. 

 

Through it all, Clint’s semi-state of arousal was a comforting background, every glance and absent brush of skin spreading warmth. Eventually, with a stomach full of good food and beer, the night spent with friends and tiny cats that radiated love, he stumbled upstairs, and fell into his bed, newly christened Bard curled up against his chest. He dreamt of kisses in alleyways, goodnight ones that still burned hours later, and ones that became shared laughter. Bookstores that sold clothes and cannoli, tiny restaurants that had stools for kittens, and a cabin in the woods with spicy peppers growing in the garden. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Was it ever in doubt? Clint makes a choice as the battle rages.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is a little shorter than the ones before; the next scene is loooooong and much awaited, so it gets a chapter to itself. Yes, my loyal listeners, I am talking about fluffy, sweet, slow, earth-shattering smut is on the way.

 “I’m busy for one night and you go and bring little hairballs into the Tower.” Tony dropped into a squat and looked Bard over. “Well, if you live here, you have to work for your keep. What can you do?”

 

“He can be a little shit,”Clint warned. The kitten had hissed at Stephen Strange and hid beneath the sofa when Natasha came in.

 

“Did you scratch Legolas?” Tony asked the cat. “Can’t say I blame you; he can be a pain in the ass.” Bard sniffed Tony’s fingers then nudged his head under the tips to be stroked. Scratching him under the chin, Tony grinned. “The boy has good taste.”

 

“You have a way with animals,” Philip said. “A telling difference.” 

 

“I must have been a right royal bastard in your world.” Tony rose, the kitten riding in his palm. “Not that I don’t have it in me; without Rhodey or Pepper to keep me straight, I could have been a real piece of work.” 

 

“Like you aren’t already?” Steve pushed the dishwasher rack in and closed the door.  He grinned as Tony sputtered.

 

“You walked into that one,” Clint told Tony. “Pet the cat and let it go.”

 

“It’s a matter of honor; I have to have the last word.” Tony waggled his eyebrows towards Steve. “If you want a piece, Rogers, all you have to do is ask.”

 

“And that would be the Stark I know.”  Hope Van Dyne, her dark hair cut short in a bob, exited the elevator, followed by a man with shaggy brown hair and a rumpled canvas jacket over a plaid shirt and jeans. “You never change, do you Tony?”

 

“Why mess with perfection?” Tony offered her the hand that wasn’t filled with a kitten. “You never age, do you Ms. Van Dyne?”

 

A ghost of a smile curled around her lips. “Don’t try that charm on me; it doesn’t work.”

 

“It doesn’t.” The guy with her agreed. “Trust me, I’ve tried.”

 

“And you are …” Tony cocked his head and studied the man from head to toe. “Hank’s fly on the wall? Here to report back to Daddy Pym?”

 

“Hell, no. I’m Scott, Scott Lang. I’m Hank’s … yeah, not sure what my official title is. I sort of help out. With stuff.” Scott shook Tony’s hand and then saw Clint. “Hey, you’re Hawkeye! And that’s Captain America? Like the real … wow, it’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”

 

Hope stared at Philip. “I know you warned me but he looks so much like Phil,” she finally said. “Alternative worlds. Guess that’s something else I need to learn about.” She glanced at Clint. “Thanks for calling, asking Dad for help. He’s been out-of-sorts lately with Darren taking the company in a different direction. He likes to feel needed.”

 

“We really do need his insights on ant behavior,” Clint ushered her into the room. “If we can understand these bugs, we could better defeat them.”

 

“Perhaps we could break our fast before we begin?” Philip asked. He’d donned a new pair of jeans and a light blue henley for the day. “I haven’t yet eaten.”

 

“Right! That’s why I ordered the best bagels in the city. They’re on the table unless Captain Endless Stomach over there has been at them. Should be a few left.” Tony perched Bard on his shoulder and strode towards the dining room. “Jarvis, tell the Widow, Thor, and Bruce that the ant family is here.”

 

“And you wondered why Dad and Howard didn’t get along?” Hope said to Scott. “Exhibit A.”

 

With a blueberry bagel smeared with cream cheese then topped with vinegar soaked onions, smoked salmon, and capers, Clint let Bruce and Tony do the heavy lifting of bringing the newcomers up to speed.  Instead, he googled Scott Lang on his phone, using Tony’s special backdoor program to find Scott’s police and prison records; how a man with a master’s degree in mechanical engineering ended up an ex-con was an interesting conundrum, especially when he was now working for Hank Pym.

 

When he grew tired of Tony’s constant movement, Bard jumped on the table, carefully placing his paws as he wove around the plates and cups. Plopping on his butt in front of Clint, the kitten let out a plaintive yowl and put his paw on Clint’s arm. Waving a bit of salmon, Clint got him settled on his lap where the cat wolfed down every tiny bit of food Clint offered.

 

“We know who wears the pants in that relationship,” Tony quipped.

 

“Fight me, Tony. He was abandoned and starving. A little fish won’t hurt.”

 

“Speaking of food, do we know what the creatures eat? Ants work together to provide food for the hill.” Hope directed the conversation back on track even as she offered Bard a dollop of cream cheese. “If they’re hungry enough, any animal is dangerous.”

 

“There are some animals that, if treated poorly and kept in agony, can become violent and uncontrollable,” Philip said.

 

“Cornered dogs always bite.” Bruce spun his chair around, one hand absently scratching Marie, his kitten. “Trust me on that.”

 

“If we get you close enough, can you talk to them?” Steve asked. He’d left Cooper in his room, unwilling to wake the kitten up from his nap in the sun. “Get some idea of what’s going on in their heads?”

 

“It’s not exactly talking,” Hope explained, “more like … sending and receiving emotions.”

 

“Yeah, you can’t just think ‘bring me that’, you have to picture it happening?” Scott added. “Mostly their thoughts are a steady background of ‘walk, walk, eat, eat, what the hell is that?’.”

 

“Anything is better than what we have now.” Tony picked up his phone. “Logan’s tracking one; we can head his way and …”

 

A circle of magical fire appeared and Stephen  Strange stepped through. “We have another incursion,” he said. “Lexington, Kentucky. Charles and the X-men are on the way.”

 

“No time like the present.” Hope stood. “I’ll need to unpack the gear. We can be ready in ten.”

 

“It’s been less than 24 hours.” Bruce looked at Philip. “Do they always come this close together?”

 

“There is no pattern,” Philip replied. “WE never knew when they would attack.”

 

“One skirmish at a time.” Steve rose. “Ten minute ETA people.”

 

Leaving Bard in his apartment, Clint had a few seconds to worry about shredded furniture while he suited up but once he saw Stephen open a portal, he only had room for the fight ahead. He knew that Pepper had already put in place a pet sitter for when they were gone .. she was efficient like that … and he’d never really liked the contemporary sofa that had come with the space anyway.  Tony’s idea of design ran more to black leather and chrome than comfortable.

 

“Who are you supposed to be?” Tony asked as Scott stepped up wearing a red suit with a silver helmet.

 

“Ant Man,” Hope answered for him.  “Dad passed the suit to him.”

 

“But not ..” Tony paused. “Ah, Pym doesn’t trust Cross. Got it. He needs a thief.”

 

Flipping down his helmet, Tony blasted through the portal; Clint followed, Philip on his heels, leaving Scott standing with his mouth open.  Everyone forgot that Tony was inside SHIELD’s files and had been for years. He knew more about the agency than Fury did.

 

They stepped out into an expanse of grass, a smartly painted white fence dividing the manicured lawn from a field where two chestnut brown horses stood still, their attention fixed in the direction of the sprawling house.

 

“Magnificent.” Philip’s eyes traced the lines of the horse’s flanks. “Tell me you ride that amazing creature.”

 

“Oh, yes,” Clint grinned at him, thinking of Philip pressed up behind him as they galloped. “I’ll teach you.”

 

The horses startled, skittering away as Storm flew over their heads to land next to Tony. “They’re massing on the north side of the ranch, maybe two hundred so far, but more are coming through the rift.”

 

“Let’s go,” Tony lifted off, grabbing the strap on Steve’s back and hoisting him up. “Time and bugs wait for no one.”

 

Philip unfurled his wings. “Clint?”

 

“I’ve got my own transportation.” He glanced at Hope. “You ride?”

 

“Been awhile, but I think I remember how,” she replied.

 

“Meet you there.” Scott shrank out of sight and Clint caught the zip of a flying bug zooming across the driveway.  Bruce changed and the Hulk roared, jumping up and soaring over the house.

 

It only took a few moments for Clint to calm the horse; he’d expected Hope to ride pinion, but she was seated bareback by the time Clint wrapped his fingers in the mane. They rode along the fence line, Clint falling easily back into the rhythm, rising up, knees pressed in to keep him steady, an arrow notched and ready to fly.  The first bug rose up on its hind legs; Clint shot it right where the chink was, but it bounced off without a mark.

 

“Damn it,” Clint muttered. “They’ve changed. How the hell could they change?”

 

He switched to explosive head and blew up a pair that rounded the garage.  Vaulting off the horse, he rolled and jumped up, firing two more arrows before Hope dismounted and joined him.

 

“Give me a second.”Hope touched the device in her ear. “I’m going to …”

 

“I’ve got you covered. Do your thing,”  Clint assured her.

 

The first he noticed was when the bugs slowed their advance; milling about, the closest ones seemed disoriented, unsure of what to do.  Then they stopped altogether, antennae flexing and heads tilting, their multifaceted eyes reflecting the sunlight.

 

“You got their attention,” Steve said over the comms. “See if you can get them to go back through the rift.”

 

“That’s simple enough.” Hope concentrated and muttered. “Go home.”

 

The creatures squealed, a high pitched tone that cut into Clint’s head and made his ears ring. Like a pot of water coming to a boil, they slashed their legs and snapped at each other, lashing out in all direction.

 

“Oh, God.” Hope dropped to her knees, cradling her head in her hands. “I … can’t …”

 

“Break the connection.” Scott appeared next to her. “It’s too much.”

 

“Give me a minute.” She shook her head when Scott reached for the device. “I’ve been doing this longer than you; I can handle it.”

 

“I don’t think we have a minute.” Clint grabbed Hope’s arm, dragging her closer to the garage just as the bugs charged. An angry cluster trampled across the grass and towards the house; others broke away and ran/hopped over the field towards the trees. From the corner of his eye, he saw four people  run from the front porch and sprint towards the barn at the bottom of the slope where ranch hands were gathering all the horses, trying to get them inside. “We’ve got civilians; any chance you can detour these things away from that building?”

 

“I’ll try.” Hope took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

 

“Just don’t mention home,” Scott said. “I’ll run interference for you.”

 

For a while, it worked. With Storm, Thor and Tony shooting down the fliers and Hope pushing them back, the rest managed to corral them by fanning out, trapping them between Clint’s arrows and Steve’s flying shield.  The Hulk waded right in the middle, smashing and ripping his way towards the rift, getting close enough that he was able to block 2/3s of the opening, slowing down the number coming through to a trickle.

 

Clint found himself with Natasha on one side and Philip on the other.  The rhythm that came from years of working with Nat synced with his bond to Philip; the three of them became one well-oiled machine, fighting together as if they’d been doing it forever. Giving Nat a boost, Clint flipped her over Philip’s head where she landed a kick on a bug trying to fly past them and shot widow bites into the two Philip knocked down with his staff. The tide of the battle retreated before their onslaught; if Stephen or Tony or someone could shut the rift, they’d win this.

 

Just as Clint thought they’d tipped over into the clean up phase, a bright flash was followed by a rumble then a crackle and pop. The rift widened, tendrils shooting out and up, and more of the creatures poured through. They overwhelmed the Hulk with sheer numbers and drove Steve and Scott Summers back.  Encircling Clint’s position, the bugs cut them off from the rest of the team, coming at them from all sides. The harmony of the bond could do no more than hold ground while the rest of the mass of bugs swarmed outwards.

 

“They’re targeting the barn!” Tony shouted, his voice breaking over the comms. “We’ve got to stop them.”

 

“I can protect them,” Philip answered. “If I can get closer and have a few minutes to set up the barrier.”

 

A beam of energy cut through the seething crowd of legs and wings, opening a path. “Go,” Scott Summers said. “We’ll do what we can to keep them off you.”

 

They fought their way down the hill until they were free of antenna and flailing legs, Philip in the lead, Clint and Natasha on his heels.  A line of ants flew before them, Scott Lang and Hope Van Dyne growing to full height just outside the barn door.

 

“We’ll give you as much time as we can,” they promised.

 

“I need someone to draw a circle in the dirt all the way around this thing.” Philip held out his staff. “The faster the better.”

 

Lang grabbed it. “On it.” 

 

In a second, all Clint could see was the stick of wood dragging an end along the ground, zooming around the side of the barn as if all by itself.

 

“Miniaturization doesn’t diminish his strength,” Hope offered as way of explanation.

 

“Whatever.” Clint didn’t have time to think about quantum mechanics. “Let’s do this.”

 

Philip knelt, digging his fingers into the dirt and closing his eyes. 

 

“Oh.” Hope blinked twice then planted her feet firmly and leaned forward. “He’s calming the horses inside. I can use that.”

 

The closest bugs slowed first, then the ones behind them. Within the radius of Hope’s control, they milled about, some even sinking onto the ground. Walking the perimeter, Clint and Natasha took positions in case one of them shook off the command. In the breath of a moment, Clint felt the tingle of Philip’s magic and the echoing response of the earth; along the line Lang was drawing, tendrils erupted, weaving together as they grew, brown branches sprouting prickly green leaves as they grew into a wall that rose higher and higher.

 

“Done!” Lang connected the end to the beginning and Clint’s ears popped as the barberry bushes closed the circle.

 

Lashing out with his own staff, Clint swung it like a bat at the bug that flew in over the heads of the others. More took to the air, zeroing in on the roof of the barn, aiming for the shrinking opening. A knot in his gut tightened, and he felt Philip’s energy flag, the bond tugging at Clint. Too much, too fast, a nagging voice told him; Philip was tapping deep in to his reserves.  Only four days since Philip had fought for his life between worlds, and they’re been precious little time to rest and replenish. The barrier slowed as more of the bugs began attacking it, flying full speed into the thorny branches. Philip was sweating, his teeth clenched as he kept pouring more and more of himself into the earth.

 

“Fuck it.” Clint fired one more arrow, slung his bow over his shoulder and called to Natasha. “I’ve got to help Philip.”

 

When his hands wrapped around Philip’s biceps, the force of the spell hit Clint full-force. He gasped, almost sat back on his ass, but by sheer force of will kept skin-to-skin contact. Like unstoppering a bathtub, his strength began to spiral into Philip and out through the dirt to feed the limbs as they grew, closing in at the apex of the half-circle, walling off the barn and all inside from attack. The last inches sucked Clint to the dregs, a wave of exhaustion sweeping over him. The voices in his ear grew dim, the sounds of battle fading away.

 

Quiet replaced the din, a light breeze tickling his bare toes, the slow swing of the hammock rocking him back and forth. Above, green leaves the size of a king size bed bent down, their dark stalks as thick as a large tree. Darting along the rope that held Clint aloft, a long bundle of grey fur flicked a forked tongue and mewled.

 

“What are you? A chipzard? Half chipmunk, half lizard?” Clint stared at the unblinking silver eyes. “Toto, we are not in Kansas anymore.”

 

 “This is my world,” Philip said from the hammock next to Clint. “My retreat where I go to commune.”

 

“Okay.” Clint caught the orange red light that filtered between the leaves. “And we’re here because …”

 

“This.” Philip tapped a finger on a small tattoo, a leaf with a curled tip. “I used up all my magic on the spell and burned through your energy too. We’re here because this holds a tiny reservoir of power, enough to wake up and get out of harm’s way.”

 

“So I’m not crazy; the tattoos move.” Clint could reach Philip’s forearm; he traced the ivy on the bracer. “The wings, the snake … they all do something.”

 

“A few are markers of my rank and grove,” Philip said. “But, yes, the rest are imbued with magic.  Many a mage and druid made their living by selling inked sigils.”

 

“Anyone can have one?” Clint’s eyes lit up as he thought about it.

 

“I already know the first one I shall give you.” Philip grinned then grew sober. “You made the bond deeper when you shared your energy. It can still be undone …”

 

“I knew what I was doing.” Clint interlaced his fingers with Philip’s. “I have a habit of jumping into things; wouldn’t be me if I didn’t.”

 

The ground rumbled, leaves shaking; the animal scampered away.

 

“We’ve no time.” Philip said, eyes glancing upward. “I will need at least one day cycle to recuperate; the farther away from the city the better. You, as well. For better or worse, our spirits are tied in this.”

 

“Sure, we’ll make it work …” Clint groaned as the whole world spun, tossing him from the hammock. “What the …”

 

“Clint!” Natasha shook him again. “Come on. We’ve got to move.”

 

His feet moved before his brain engaged; stumbling along, he glanced around, feeling a spurt of relief when he saw Philip leaning on Scott Lang. All around them, the bugs led a frenzied attack, a pitched fight that battered at the hedge. 

 

“I’m good.” Clint pushed away and stood, grabbing his bow. “I’ve got at least two dozen arrows left. If I can find a vantage point …”

 

“One pick up for Hawkass,” Tony said as he swept down and latched onto Clint’s vest. “Rooftop transport away.”

 

He picked his targets, careful to use his arrows where they would do the most damage. All the while, he sensed Philip, his exhaustion, the effort it took to swing his staff. Despite their combined powers, the creatures were relentless, too many of them grown impervious to lightning and repulsor blasts.

 

“What about the rift?” Clint asked. “The bugs might evolve but does it? Maybe instead of attacking them, we should …”

 

“Overload it and hope it collapses?  And what if it explodes?” Steve asked, stopped to wipe the sweat from his cheek before smashing his shield into another bug. “Too risky. We should …”

 

Two beams of energy hit dead center of the opening between worlds; Tony banked right and whooped. “The opening is down seventeen percent of mass,” he crowed. “All together now.”

 

Before Steve could offer an objection, Tony lined up another pass. Storm and Thor called down multiple bolts of lightning, Clint let go with two exploding arrows, and the Hulk settled for pummeling with his fists. Between pulses of energy, the rift grew noticeably smaller until it imploded with a bang that knocked the Hulk onto his ass and tumbled creatures ass over end/

 

“Whooha!” Tony shouted above the din. “Round ‘em up, cowboys.”

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A time out to rest and rejuvenate ... hot springs, cabin in the woods and good food. What more could the boys need?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New River Gorge is an amazingly beautiful wilderness area in West Virginia.

The first filtering rays of the sun woke him; under his cheek were soft sheets, his bare feet hanging off the side of the bed, and he opened his eyes.  The clock on the dresser announced the time as 6:27; stretching his arms above his head, he heard his shoulder crack and his knuckles pop. Rolling over, he sat up, casting about for his shirt, seeing nothing but his boots and dirty socks by the door.  

 

The floor-to-ceiling windows showed the mountains that surrounded the cabin, the deep slash of the gorge winding its way from left to right, only brief glimpses of the waters that filled the natural wonder. Evergreens reached high, oaks and maples mixed among them, a forest that extended as far as Clint could see. 

 

Padding into the living space in just his jeans, he glanced at the couch, but it was empty.  He distinctly remembered arriving, Natasha carrying the go bag with his and Philip’s things; it was leaning against the breakfast bar, along with his bow case and quiver. The flight out had put him to sleep, the long hours of clean up after the battle wiping him out.  Only the nagging awareness of Philip’s exhaustion kept him going, talking to Nat about needing a place to recharge.  Somehow the small rustic cabin in Upstate New York ended up being this luxury place once Tony got wind of the plan. As Clint flicked the switch of the coffee maker, a pot ready to go, and opened the fully stocked fridge, he admitted Tony had been right.  The time it had taken to get here had allowed a local service to prepare everything. 

 

He found fresh peaches in a bowl on the counter and prowled through the fridge’s shelves until he saw clotted cream and almond milk.  A search for cereal yielded maple pecan granola; a couple bowls from the cabinet and he had the makings for breakfast. As the coffee brewed, he peeked into the other two bedrooms, seeing neatly made beds; he came back, poured a cup while the filter was still dripping, adding only a touch of the almond milk before he took a sip, scalding the roof of his mouth. 

 

The doors to the deck didn’t open either in or out; without a frame, the glass slid along a track, linking to the next panes and then folding along the wall to leave the whole living room open to the outdoors.  An expensive gas grill and river rock bar lined one side of the deck; on the other end, a firepit was circled by more stone, chairs drawn up around it.  Two loungers were by the party sized hot tub, one missing its tufted cushion. 

 

Down the stairs, under the low sweeping branches of a pine, Philip was sprawled on the cushion,  a burgundy chenille throw his only cover.  One bare foot rested on the ground, his opposite hand against the tree trunk.  No shirt, no pants … Clint had a vague memory of Philip half-dressed and half-asleep, wrapped in the throw and opening the door. 

 

Leaning on the railing, Clint breathed in a lungful of crisp, clean air and sipped his coffee, taking time to look his fill at every inch of revealed skin. Warmth expanded in his chest; less than a week ago, Philip crashed into his life and turned everything on its ear.  Clint had been content being alone, truth be told; he had friends and a swanky place to live and money to buy leather jackets and a purpose to get out of bed in the morning.  That was tempting fate enough, so he’d decided to let the rest be reminders of how easily things could go bad.  Loki, Phil’s death, his part in all of it, well, he had to live with the pain  He deserved it. 

 

God, he missed Phil and his steady voice in his ear. Clint could use some sensible advice right about now.  Natasha had blinders when it came to relationships; she was worse at them than he was.  No, Phil would have listened and dropped some piece of wisdom that didn’t come from a Hallmark movie.  He’d have told Clint to make a list, pros and cons, look at the risks and balance out whether Philip was work it. Not that Phil did that in his own love life; breaking up with Aubrey was a mistake not even Fury could talk Phil out of.  Still, Phil would have been right.  Which would be worse … getting his heart broken or passing on a great thing? 

 

“That smells divine.” Philip stopped to yawn before he continued. “Is there food or do I need to forage?  I’m hungry enough to eat bark if need be.” 

 

“Tony had the kitchen stocked, so we’re set.” Clint grinned as Philip rolled out of his makeshift bed, carrying the cover and dragging the cushion to the deck.  He’d kept his briefs on rather than go nude; after returning his items to their places, Philip leaned over Clint’s cup and took a deep whiff. 

 

“Can I have a taste?” he asked. When Clint nodded, Philip bypassed the mug and went straight to Clint’s lips, kissing him thoroughly and swiping his tongue along the crease . “Ummm, that’s good.” 

 

“So that’s how we’re going to start the day?” Clint couldn’t help but smile at the smug look on Philip’s face. 

 

“And end it. And fill every moment in between,” Philip replied, dipping his head for another kiss. 

 

“Then we better eat to keep our energy up,” Clint said with a laugh. 

 

He filled the bowls with granola, topped it with sliced peaches and a dollop of the cream. They took their breakfast out onto the porch, using the deck stairs as seats so Philip could dig his toes into the dirt as he tasted each ingredient and declaring that maple syrup was the nectar of the goddess. For a while, Clint was content to sit in silence, no need to carry on a conversation. 

 

“Stark mentioned there was a spring nearby.” Philip finished off his coffee. “Something about a party ready to start.”

 

“There’s some brochures on the counter; the one on top had a map of the local trails. Bet it’s on there.” Clint gathered the dishes. “Been a long time since I went skinny dipping.”

 

Taking towels from the master bath, Clint made some sandwiches and packed a couple bottles of water along with a bag of trail mix he found in the cupboard.  They left the cabin, Philip dressed and taking the lead; as they walked, in no particular hurry,  Philip got sidetracked by animals and plants, trees and shrubs,  touching, smelling, and sometimes tasting. 

 

“Not that one,” Clint called before Philip could stroke the larger of the three leaves.  “Poison Ivy. You’ll be itchy and covered in red bumps.” 

 

“Ah.” Philip ran his fingertip over the top and underside anyway. “I wondered when I’d come across the first toxin.  Nature protects itself.” 

 

“Hope there’s chamomile lotion at the cabin,” Clint said. “I can’t believe you did that after I warned …” Philip’s tattoos moved, the snake unfurling from the ivy, sliding onto the back of his hand before winding around each finger that touched the plant. “Well, that’s handy. Wouldn’t mind a bit of prepackaged healing; I can already feel chigger bites starting to itch.” 

 

“Easy enough for you,” Philip answered, starting up the trail. “Since you wouldn’t be healing others, a simple sigil of protect would suffice. I’ll work it into the first design.” 

 

“No more hangnails. I could live with that.” 

 

They came upon the spring an hour and a half after they left the cabin.  Surrounded by tall trees, the pool was tucked into a cleft of rocky outcropping; fed by a trickle of a stream that ran down the stone face, the natural feature had been upgraded by someone with an edge of stacked stones and an entry point with large rocks placed as steps.  Benches had been created underwater with more rocks, and the verge had been cleared all the way around. 

 

Clint dipped a hand in. “Not as cold as it could be, I guess. Gonna take a while to get used to it.” He dropped his backpack by a large oak and started untying his shoes. “Won’t be the first cold shower I’ve taken.” 

 

“I prefer warmth.” Philip splayed his hands on the ground. “There, that should last a few hours.” 

 

“Okay, now you’re showing off. Making a hot tub in the wilderness?” Socks off, Clint could feel the heat.  He tossed the towel over a low hanging limb and followed it with his hoodie. 

 

“That’s how we create our bathing pools;we don’t have hot water that comes from our ceilings.” Philip leaned against another tree and crossed his arms. “Tell me that skinny dipping involves a lot of skin.” 

 

“It does.” Clint caught the hem of his shirt, paused, and winked. “Aren’t you going to join me?” 

 

“Eventually. I’d rather watch you go first.” Philip smiled, his eyes flicking along the lines of Clint’s body then back up. 

 

A heat that had nothing to do with Philip’s spell flashed through Clint. He slowly drew the shirt over his head, hanging it next to the hoodie then reached for his belt, unclasping it and pulling it free from the loops. 

 

“You’re hurt.” Philip closed the distance and ever so gently touched the purpling bruise on Clint’s left side. “This is from the battle yesterday?” 

 

“It’s nothing,” Clint insisted. Wherever Philip touched, pain receded beneath a brush of cooling sensation. “Bruises, a few scrapes, a couple cuts. I put antiseptic sealant on, so I’m good to go.” 

 

“Same stubbornness about yourself, I see,” Philip complained. He found the gnarled white skin of an old exit wound and traced the pattern of broken skin. “This should have been better cared for.”

 

“Yeah, well, I was young and on the run and didn’t have the time or money to see a doctor for a knife in the back. Nat stopped the bleeding, sewed it up, and I lived.” A shiver passed through him at the memory of just how close a call it really was. Forcing it away, he unbuttoned his jeans and shimmied out of them.

 

“You should combine the scar within a tattoo; old pain makes powerful magic.” Taking the hint, Philip slid his hands higher, skimming his fingers along Clint’s shoulders. “How do you manage with such tight muscles? So many knots and kinks.” 

 

A thumb dug into the trapeze, and Clint groaned. “Oh, damn. If you tell me you give the best massages …”

 

“I am trained in seventeen different ways to release tension and restore balance,” Philip murmured, lips close to Clint’s ear.  “All sorts of interesting techniques.” 

 

“Of course you are.” Clint huffed; Fate wasn’t giving him a choice. Hooking his fingers on the waistband of his briefs, he added them to the stack of clothes. Hands on his hips, he turned.  “You going to show me a few of them?”

 

From the tip of his toes, all the way up his body, Philip’s eyes roved, returning to Clint’s stirring cock before he replied. “Every one. We’ll take our time and work through them all.” 

 

“Got to get naked and join me.” Clint took the couple steps then eased into the pool; his skin pinked as he submerged, his blood rushing to deal with the change in temperature. “So far, you’re all talk, Druid Boy.”

 

Philip barked a laugh. “You are such bluster and blow, Clint Barton. No wonder I’m so attracted to you.” 

 

It was Clint’s turn to watch and Philip made a show of removing his clothes, piling them on another branch. As Philip entered the pool, Clint half expected him to make a move there and then, but he didn’t, relaxing on the seat next to Clint, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. When Clint huffed, Philip cracked open one eye and looked his way. “Coming together will strengthen the bond beyond a simple breaking. As I have made my intentions known, you must decide if we take that step.” 

 

“I thought I already did.” Clint floated closer. “But if you need obviousness, I can do that.” The kiss was a light graze of skin rushing skin, a sudden shyness overtaking him. “I mean, if you want to. You don’t have to feel obligated to …” 

 

The return kiss was possessive, Philip’s arms wrapping around Clint’s waist and pulling him in tighter. 

 

“I have no doubts,” Philip said against his lips. “I know what I want.” 

 

He pushed them out into the middle of the pool, floating together, toes barely touching the bottom.  Legs and arms tangled together as lips met again and again, a slow discovery of this new connection.  

 

“Can you feel the water? How it’s part of us?” Philip murmured. “Close your eyes.”

 

Immediately, Clint sense sank into Philip, the bond making the merge seamless. Then he slowly became aware of the silky brush of water along his skin, micro currents raising the hair on the nap of his neck. Everywhere Philip’s fingers trailed, tiny tremors followed, rippling outward until his whole body was vibrating.  He hardened as Phlip slipped his knee between Clint’s legs and rubbed, motion stirring little waves that spread towards the edge of the pool. 

 

“Oh.” His head spun with his own desire plus Philip’s, both magnified by the liquid around them. He rocked his hips, a frictionless motion that was as sensual a touch as he’d ever felt.  

 

“That’s it.” Philip caught a drop of sweat running along Clint’s cheek. 

 

“Oh, God, Phil. That’s …”  Clint’s eyelids flew open as he realized what he’d said. With a push, he floated away, putting space between them.  “I didn’t mean … I’m not … I know you’re not him.”

 

“Truthfully, my closest friends and lovers called me Phil; I don’t mind if you’re comfortable with it,” Philip said. 

 

“Yeah, but …” Clint couldn’t help feeling guilty. “There was a time when I kind of got attraction mixed up with gratitude. You know, an abused kid on the run who’d done some bad things meets someone who gives them their trust and respect? Who’s not going to fall for that?” 

 

Philip was silent for a moment then spoke in a soft voice. “What was the first thing you thought when you met me? That I looked like Phil?” 

 

“Nah, wasn’t your face I saw first, it was that amazing ass. And your arms. And tats. Pure libido rush of unfiltered lust,” Clint admitted. 

 

“And the first time you met Phil?” 

 

A rainy afternoon in a smelly, dank alley. A bullet and blood. A man in a suit, gun smoking. “I see what you’re doing,” Clint said as he thought of his answer. “I thought he was so normal looking, that this boring humdrum guy was going to be the one to take me down. And, no, I didn’t get knocked off my feet, not that day or the ones to come. That’s why I realized what I felt for him wasn’t that kind of love.”

 

“So there’s no confusion.” Philip glided through the water. “You can mourn your friend and still have a life.” 

 

“You’re like a therapist, a masseur, and a cat whisperer all wrapped up in one.” Clint grinned. 

 

“I find it interesting,” Philip said as he caught Clint’s hand and tugged him closer. “That you aren’t worried about my relationship with the Clint Barton of my world. Does that not bother you?” 

 

“Ah,” Clint stuttered as his brain stumbled to a halt. “Hadn’t really give it a thought, but I’m thinking about it now. You said he was with Nat and you didn’t trust him, so I assumed you weren’t sleeping with him.”    
  


“We had sex once,” Philip said. “As part of a Seeding Festival after the Rastilians destroyed the crops. He stood as the God of the Seeds, and I was the Air that disseminates the pollen. The ritual involved spilling seed on the ground to encourage plants to grow.” 

 

“Wait. What?” Clint was sure Philip was pulling his leg. “Ritualistic … spilling of seed … you’re joking, right?” 

 

“Not at all. The magic needed all six of us to ensure there was enough food for the winter.”  

 

No telltale smile lines, no crinkling around the eyes … Philip was telling the truth. “Dude, ritualistic orgies? That’s … we don’t generally do that around here. Sure, group sex happens … Tony’s sex tapes are on the internet … and there’s probably a group somewhere dancing around a maypole and having lots of sex around a bonfire, but that’s about it.” 

 

“I wasn’t supposed to know it was him.” Philip slid his hands up Clint’s arms and down his chest. “But he has some distinctive scars. Without the potion and herbs in the fire, I don’t think he’d have been up to the task.” 

 

“Up to the ... “ Clint bumped his shoulder into Philip’s. “Had to get drugged up to perform? Well, I guess I can overlook that.” 

 

“If it helps.” Philip paused to drop a kiss on Clint’s shoulder. “I never felt a … what did you call it? … rush of unfiltered lust … for his ass or arms.” 

 

“Good.” Hands on Philip’s waist slipped around to grab his ass, and Clint aligned their bodies so hip fit snug against hip. “That’s good to know.” 

 

He fell back into the connection without trying. Lips trailed along moist skin, hands explored, legs rubbed and Clint’s senses narrowed to this moment, the water, Philip’s body, and the tightening knot of tension in his gut. When Philip’s palm closed around his cock, Clint moaned and the wind responded, blowing through his hair and cooling his overheated cheeks. He canted his hips and joined his hand with Philip’s, wrapping around both of their cocks, friction making each thrust exponentially more pleasurable. 

 

The forest fell quiet around them, Clint quick breaths the only sound, Philip’s tiny muted moans as an undercurrent.  Closer and closer to the edge, Clint could swear the pool was thrumming in time to his heartbeat. Then Philip twisted his hand and Clint’s vision went white as his orgasm hit, a shattering of tension and breaking of another boundary.  A second wave hit him as Philip came, not an echo but a sharing, Clint feeling it as Philip did. 

 

“Oh.” Clint rested his forehead on Philip’s. “Wow.”

 

“Ummmm.” Philip hummed under his breath. “It had been a while.” 

 

“Me too.” Clint followed as Philip drifted to the side. “I needed that.”

 

Resting his head on Philip’s shoulder, Clint used Philip as a body pillow, closing his eyes and drifting into a drowsy half-sleep. The trees shaded them from the sun, the pool warm and the breeze just cool enough to be comfortable. Content, they stayed entwined for a long time until Clint’s stomach rumbled. 

 

Lunch was peanut butter and grape jelly (organic and sugar free thanks to Tony) on a multigrain wheat bread with golden raisins and honey.  They shared a bag of chips  and each took an apple for dessert.  After they’d cleaned up, Philip talked Clint into striking out on their own, leaving the trail behind and circling closer to the gorge, promising he knew his way back to the cabin. With GPS on his Stark phone, Clint gave Philip the lead and enjoyed the view from behind as they wandered between the trees.  They found an amazing viewpoint where they could see for miles after crossing paths with a family of deer and a curious fox. The denizens seemed fascinated by Philip, watching from branches and peering from bushes as they passed. 

 

By the time they got back to the cabin, Clint had taken off his hoodie, sweating from traversing the uneven terrain.  The exercise had been good for him; fresh air, the smell of pine needles under his boots, and the warm sun did more to re-energize him than sleeping it off at the Tower.  Getting off didn’t hurt, either; he was more relaxed than he had been in … well, a really long time. 

 

“Gonna take a shower,” Clint said, untying his shoes and kicking them off just inside the door.  “You want to join me?” 

 

“After.” Philip caught the hem of Clint’s shirt. “I promised to work on those muscles. Let’s see if I can find some oil or salve.” 

 

“Check the basket in the bathroom.” Clint nodded to the master bedroom “All sorts of little goodies.” 

 

He grabbed a beer from the fridge, popping it open and taking a long swig as he peered at the loaded shelves. Two thick steaks called to him; toss ‘em on the grill, put a potato in the microwave, and dinner was set. 

 

“Shower gel? Shea lotion? Eucalyptus oil?” Philip hand three little bottles in his hand. “So many different ways to smell?” 

 

“I tend to go for the cheap drugstore shampoos and ivory soap.” Clint took out another beer for Philip. “Although I do like eucalyptus, so let’s go with that. I’m going to hit the head first.”

 

Clint was surprised to find the bedroom empty when he walked out; the sliding doors were pushed open, Philip puttering on the deck. He’d reclined one of the loungers and covered the cushion with towels, using the railing to stage his supplies. He was also completely nude, his clothes discarded in the corner by his boots. 

 

“Someone could come up the road,” Clint said, pausing in the doorway to watch the play of Philip’s glutes, the divot that appeared and disappeared on his hip as he moved. “Or Strange could open one of those portals.” 

 

“Your world is a paradox; all the people having sex on your screens, and yet you are so prudish about your bodies.” Philip patted the cushion. “The sooner you get naked, the sooner I can work on your kinks.”

 

“Kinks. Ha.” Clint gave in … he had a feeling he was going to be doing a lot more of that .. and made short work of undressing. “I’ve got a lot of unexplored kinks. Going to take a while.”

 

“I assume you aren’t just talking about knotted muscles.” Philip motioned to the chair. “Lay down on your stomach and explain it to me.”

 

The lounger was one of those expensive models; completely flat, the arm rest tucking under and the wide cushion housing a pillow for his head. His beer on the deck, within easy reach, Clint sighed and closed his eyes. “I might fall asleep,” he warned. 

 

“Oh, I doubt that.”  Philip’s knees settled on either side of Clint’s hips, his cock a warm weight as he shifted, popping the top of the oil and squirting some in his palms. 

 

“You could just go ahead and fuck me,” Clint murmured, wiggling his ass and enjoying the little huff Philip gave. “I’m a bit of an exhibitionist; I don’t mind doing it where someone might see us. That’s a fairly common kink.” 

 

Warm fingers brushed along his spin; the cleansing smell of eucalyptus hit his nose and he breathed in deep. Almost hypnotic in pattern, Philip’s hands glazed Clint’s skin, mapping out every ridge of muscle and bump of bone.

 

“Ah, I see. A sexual behavior considered unusual or unacceptable?” Philip chuckled. “On my world, the Priests taught that sex was between a man and a woman for the purposes of procreation.  Those who exhibited non-conformity could be sent to retreats to be healed; the Druidic Grooves and Mage Guilds tried to get to them first.  Even if they showed little ability for the arts, there were always plenty of jobs to be filled, and we were powerful enough to stand against the Church.” 

 

“Sounds like …” Clint sucked in a breath and grunted as Philip dug a knuckle into a spot just below Clint’s shoulder blade. “Fuck, that’s tender.” 

 

“I don’t understand this word ‘fuck’.” Philip took no pity; he applied more pressure.  “It clearly means intercourse, but you use it in so many other ways. To show emotion, to modify other words … I need to learn your language rather than rely upon the spell.” 

 

“I’m not much of … oh … a teacher … shit … so don’t look to … fuckity fuck, Phil, that feels amazing.”

 

As Philip slowly released the pressure, the pain dissolved, leaving the spot lighter and warmer. The more spots Philip worked on, the less tethered to his body Clint felt; it was as if Philip was loosening the screws that held Clint down.  Along the line of his shoulder blade, down his spine, deep into divots in his lower back, Philip relieved tension and uncurled muscles as Clint floated, lifting up  and letting go of old aches. 

 

“Jesus, you really are magic,” Clint murmured. “I haven’t felt this good in a long time.” 

 

“You carry far too much weight,” Philip replied, his voice a caress. “The body remembers and holds the pain long after the physical matter is healed. It’s all connected. Like this,” Philip’s fingers ran along the raised white ridge of a bullet’s exit wound. “This is hardened with so much emotions, a web of tissue that pulls when you draw your bow. Whatever happened, you still feel it every single day.”

 

“Didn’t heal right.”  Even the memory of Duquesne's face as he pulled the trigger, Barney standing wide-eyed behind, wasn’t as harsh in this moment. “Couldn’t afford to stay in the hospital; had to skip out on the bill.”

 

“And you think you deserve it, the twinge, so you never forget.” Philip rolled the skin between his finger and thumb. “The scar is spiritual as well, tied to who you are as a man.” 

 

Clint shivered as Philip pressed down on it, a steady weight along its length. “Anyone can betray you,” he whispered. “Anyone.”

 

“Yes.” Philip leaned down and kissed the back of Clint’s neck. “A harsh lesson indeed, but it doesn’t mean you can’t have pleasure in your life. You take what you need when you need it; enjoy what the Goddess puts before you and do not think of tomorrow.”

 

“Like the Universe put you in my path?” Clint cracked an eyelid open and looked over his shoulder. “You’re the one dithering; I was the one who wanted to get to the fucking.” 

 

“You use that strategy often, pretending not to understand.”   Philip’ slid back on the lounge, his hands cupping Clint’s ass and spreading the cheeks. “You know exactly what I mean. But since you insist …” He spread lube on his fingers and pressed his thumb past the tight muscle. “Let me show you one of my kinks.” 

 

With his thumb inside, Philip spread his fingers until Clint’s balls were cradled between them, his middle finger rubbing along Clint’s cock. The heel of his other hand rested on the top of Clint’s tailbone, the fingers covering the lower back points Philip had hit earlier. 

 

“Pressing here,” Philip’s pointer finger found a spot behind Clint’s balls, “delays ejaculation.” 

 

Clint gasped; like pulling on a string, his balls drew up and his cock nudged at his stomach. 

 

“This spot,” Philip’s thumb stroked over Clint’s prostate, “makes you jump and whine and beg for me.” 

 

Pleasure spiraled up Clint’s spin, a liquid heat that raced right to his head. 

 

“And these spots,” Philip tapped his fingers on Clint’s back. “Magnify and send it to the whole body four times over.” 

 

The jolt traveled straight to his cock then exploded throughout his system.  Intense, blinding, almost overwhelming, he cried out as the orgasm hit him, bucking up from the cushion and crying out, “Phil!” Something shattered, and in the blast he passed out of himself and into Philip; in that instant, it was Clint massaging the points, his cock, hard and starting to leak, bumping the inner thighs, his thumb sunk deep inside.  

 

“Just like that.” Philip slipped another finger in, shifting his hold. “Clint, I need …” 

 

“Yes,” Clint pushed up on his elbows. “Now.” 

 

Wind whipped through the trees, skimming across bare skin as grey clouds rolled high above, heavy with unshed rain; Philip worked him open, an echo of each flash of pleasure bouncing between them.  Clint couldn’t help himself, the desire too great to fight even if he wanted to.  He wiggled until he got his knees under him, forcing Philip to stand, and reached for a condom, ripping it open with his teeth. 

 

“You need me to show you …” he asked.

 

“I practiced,” Philip replied, taking the packet. 

 

Then he was pushing inside and Clint didn’t wait, pressing back and taking the whole length in one slide. Philip’s arm around his chest, Clint rose up, bracing himself with just his knees as Philip snapped in hard, skipping right to steady thrusts that rocked the lounge chair and blew Clint’s mind. He stopped breathing, stopped thinking, stopped doing anything but being here with Philip outside and inside him, filling him, making him whole. Wanting it to last, Clint wrapped his fingers around the base of his cock, staving off his own release. 

 

The first fat drops of rain kissed his overheated skin and washed down his chest. Philip leaned his head in, his lips nestled behind Clint’s ear.  “The water comes and the earth drinks deep, takes it in and makes it its own,” he whispered between gasps. 

 

“You … called up … this shower.” Clint canted his hips and groaned as Philip plunged deep. “Show … off.”

 

“We … did it. The bond is …” 

 

The skies opened up, the rain sluicing down in sheets. Clint tilted his head back and let it hit his face, cool his cheeks; Philip licked a rivelut that ran along Clint’s neck, his tongue tracing the line of the taut muscle.  Long thrusts began to stutter, pause, then Philip moaned his name, his hand covering Clint’s. 

 

“Come with me.”

 

It only took a few strokes; Clint bowed his back, completely in sync with Philip as he pushed in one last time, and they came together. The ripples were exponential, building until Clint’s ears were ringing with Philip’s pleasure. He floated on the high, resting against Philip’s chest, trying to catch his breath and calm his racing heart. 

 

By the time he could form a coherent sentence, the rain had eased, dropping off to a fine mist before it stopped altogether. “Did we seriously just fuck our way through a rainstorm?” 

 

“We did indeed.” Philip wrapped his arms around Clint’s waist. “I didn’t know that would happen, the rain I mean. The rest went perfectly according to plan.”

 

“I do remember something about doing this all day,” Clint chuckled. “And whatever that thing you did with your fingers?  Wow.” 

 

“Unfortunately, I think I’m done for awhile,” Philip admitted. “You wore me out.” 

 

“I could use some protein and another beer, plus a piece of that turtle cheesecake on the top shelf of the fridge.” Clint sighed. “Then sleep. Inside. on a bed. Both of us because I like to cuddle.” 

 

“With the doors open to let in the night air,” Philip agreed. “But I’d like to try some of that red wine I spied on the counter.” 

 

“Let’s clean up and I’ll fire up the grill.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Avengers hatch a plan, some familiar faces make an appearance, and Clint gets a tattoo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Midterms kicked my ass, so this is late. Sorry.

“So you think this thing will really work?”  Clint turned the small button over and over, nothing distinguishing about the silver circle.  “The bugs won’t see, smell or sense someone wearing it?” 

 

“Pym knows what he’s doing,” Scott assured him.  “And Hope had a hand in the design, so it’s the real thing.  They’ll never know what hit ‘em.” 

 

“Assuming there’s anything to hit.” Steve stood near the projection of a large map; red dots highlighted the bugs they were tracking.  “I don’t like the idea of someone going through the rift without more data.” 

 

“That’s why we’re sending in the drones,” Bruce replied. “Get an aerial view of the lay of the land.” 

 

“I’m more worried about how the person gets back.” Natasha turned from the window.  “Strange says he can find them, but do we trust that? If there’s as many worlds out there as he says …” 

 

“Why doesn’t he go himself?” Clint had missed part of the planning and was still catching up. “I mean, he knows how to get the Sanctum, right?”

 

“We can’t take the chance that he’s trapped there,” Steve offered. “He’s the only one who can open a rift from the outside in.  Plus, Tony said he’d have …”

 

“Remote garage door opener.” Tony tossed a small black box on the table. “Push the button and home, James.” 

 

“Did you just whip that up in the lab?” Clint asked. “Or did you call up Rifts-R-Us and order it?”

 

“Some of us were working while you were off having your little holiday.” Tony waggled his eyebrows at Clint. “Surprised you’re able to sit after all that … rejuvenation.”

 

“Sex provides a release of hormones that does energize the body,” Philip answered, all calm and stone faced. “Less tension and more relaxed muscles make for better fighting.” 

 

“And I thought Jarvis was the perfect straight man.” Steve grinned. 

 

“Well if we’re talking about needing a release, you’re top of the list, Cap.” Tony winked at Steve. “Anytime you need relief …”

 

“What makes you think I need a partner?” Steve shot back, earning him a scandalized look from Tony. 

 

“What? You’re shtupping someone and I don’t know about? There goes my street cred.” Tony eyed him. “You’re making that up. I’d know.”

 

Steve merely shrugged and went back to the tracking program.  “Have we heard anything from Logan or the others?  We’ve still got bugs unaccounted for.” 

 

“Nothing in the last hour,” Bruce confirmed.  “SHIELD’s got every station and satellite looking, but finding a single one of these things is pretty impossible.” 

 

“Sir?”Jarvis interrupted. “The young scientists from SHIELD are here.” 

 

“Send ‘em up, J!”  Tony told the A.I. 

 

“Checking out the competition?” Clint needled. “I thought we agreed you had to wait until they were of legal age first.” 

 

Tony stuck out his tongue in Clint’s general direction as he strolled in the direction of the elevator.  “Kid’s a mechanical genius; he’s got some drones I want to check … Hey! Welcome to my humble abode. Come in, come in.”

 

The guy looked no more than late teens, his curls unruly and unkept, honest-to-god ink stains on his fingers.  The girl with him was rosy cheeked and had her brown hair slicked back into a ponytail that made her look too young to be eligible for the Academy.  But behind the outward signs of youth, Clint saw quizzical glances that missed nothing and gaits that said they were armed.  SHIELD attracted all types, the front line agents to the scientists who ran the labs, and each and everyone was trained to protect themselves. 

 

“Ah, oh, Mr. Stark, sir, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”  The young man held out the hand not carrying a black metal case. “I’m a big fan of your work.  That modified bilinear circuit you used in the mag lifts? There’s so many uses for it in applied products …” 

 

“Fitz,” the girl warned in a low tone.  “Remember, we talked about this. Stay on topic.” 

 

“Yeah, right, of course. I’m Fitz and this is Jemma, my colleague.  I brought the drones you wanted to see.” 

 

“Well, Fitz,”  Tony drawled, ignoring the hand and scooping up the case. “I happen to agree with you about that circuit; already have seven different applications in the hopper.”  He plopped the case on the table and popped it open. “And these little babies are pretty good themselves.” 

 

Fitz beamed at Tony’s faint praise. “The concept is simple really; individuation while maintaining the cooperative networking. That and speeding up the data sharing time to keep up with the air velocity …” 

 

“Oh.” Jemma’s eyes landed on Philip and they widened. “I thought you’d … I mean i’d heard … you look just like Agent Coulson!” 

 

“Not exactly,” Philip replied. “I understand he had less hair.” 

 

She studied him. “Yes, I can see that now, but the resemblance is uncanny.” 

 

“You knew Phil?” Clint spun in his chair, flipping the cloaking device over his knuckles. “How?” 

 

“He lectured at the Academy,” Fitz jumped in, rushing through the words. “The History of SHIELD. Knew his stuff.” 

 

“Ah.” Clint vaguely remembered hearing Phil talk about something like that. “He did love anything to do with Cap and the Howling Commandos.” 

 

“.... networking on a Corell base or …” Tony gently touched one of the small drones. 

 

“And on that note,” Clint grabbed Philip by the cuff of his henley. “Let’s have an early lunch and let them techno babble. Steve?”

 

“I’m with you.  Deli on 34th?” Steve was up and heading for the elevator. “I’ll grab my coat and meet you in the lobby.” 

 

A rare roast beef sandwich with horseradish sauce filled his stomach and watching Phil demolish his first reuben made him laugh. The kiss he stole in the back hallway tasted of sauerkraut and spicy mustard, a combination that worked for Clint. Steve put away two massive pastramis on rye and a piece of cheesecake.  

 

On the way back, Philip stopped, tilting his head and staring down a side street. “Can we take a detour?” 

 

“Sure.” Clint shrugged. “They’ll call if they need us; knowing Tony, they’ll be playing with their toys all afternoon. Steve? You mind?”

 

“I’d just hit the gym early,” he said, following them down the sidewalk.  

 

Philip led them to a building that had storefronts on the ground level and apartments above.  A small watch repair place shared a door with Russian pie shop; down a flight of narrow concrete steps, a sign proclaimed the White Stag Tattoo Shop. 

 

“Can you feel it?” he asked Clint. “Close your eyes and try.” 

 

As soon as his eyelids fluttered closed, he sensed  something … a warm stir of air? … rising up from the open doorway. “What is it?” 

 

“Magic.” Philip jogged down the stairs. “Earth magic.” “

 

Just inside, a young woman, long red hair a mix of loose curls and tiny braids with silver beads, sat behind an old wooden desk that gleamed with furniture polish. In the small space,  four black recliners were tucked in the corners, dark ash cabinets and tables covered with ink and printers and up-to-date tablets. One was occupied by a business man, his suit jacket neatly hung on a hook on the wall, tie loosened and shirt sleeves rolled up; a man with grey hair that brushed his shoulders worked a needle gun, coloring in an intricate pattern.  

 

“Dennis!You owe me $20.” The woman called down the hallway to the back before she looked them over, each in turn.  She smiled at Steve, narrowed her eyes at Clint, and sat back on her stool. “I’ve been sketching these designs since yesterday,” she told Philip, sliding two pieces of paper over for him to see. “Wasn’t sure if I’d need them, but when the Lady demands, you either do what she wants or pay the price.” 

 

Clint’s eye fell on one and his heart leapt into his throat, thumping right up into his mouth and blocking any words he could think to say.   [ It was simply, really, just two circles, some lines and few other geometrical shapes ](https://i.pinimg.com/736x/0b/06/20/0b0620baaa9987ba44b6e03116f60803.jpg) , and yet the arrows bisected their targets, the pieces adding up to more than the individual parts. 

 

“That’s gorgeous,” Steve said, looking over Clint’s shoulder.  “Add some color and it’s perfect for you. Purple, maybe?” 

 

“Shading in lilac, lines in deep purple,” Philip said, turning the sketch to check from all sides.  “The circles will cover the largest part of the scar, integrate them into who you are now.  And this one,” he held the other one out for Steve, “needs to be black and white, just as it is.” 

 

“Oh, I can’t get a tattoo,” Steve said, shaking his head. “It’ll just heal over in a day. Tried it in France; we all got one and …” His words stopped as he saw the image; the crystalline head of a wolf was thrown back in howl within two concentric circles.   

 

“I wasn’t sure about the shape,” the girl said, “but Da said to make it look like ice.”

 

“I …” Steve tried but failed to speak. 

 

“I can make it permanent,” Philip told him. “If you want.” 

 

“You’re welcome to use my workstation.” A young man with matching cheekbones and same dark skin as the girl stepped up beside her, passing over a folded bill. “I’m just an initiate, but I know how to imbue ink.  Da makes up the batches himself.” 

 

So Clint wound up stretched out on his stomach, shirt off, watching Dennis, Deidre’s brother, tattoo Steve’s shoulder while Philip drew on his back.  A steady hum filled his ears, one he was coming to associated with Philip’s power, and he relaxed into the infusion of color and magic.  He wanted to ask what it mean, but the other customer was just finishing up.  

 

“Think of us,” Philip whispered in his ear. “Let the lines draw you straight to me.”

 

“Like I don’t already.”  Almost hypnotic, the needle pricks sent little tendrils that sank under his skin and expanded along his spine.  The scent of pine and fresh earth rose in his nose, the taste of Philip on his tongue.  Echoes of yesterday’s love making made his fingertips tingle and his skin flush.  How it felt to wake with Philip nestled next to him, to stroke wet skin in the shower, to share coffee as the sun rose.  

 

“I almost put some watercolor behind it,” Deidre said, peering over Philip’s shoulder. “But that didn’t seem right somehow.” 

 

“Does the sight run in the family?” Philip asked, trading the darker purple ink for a lighter shade. 

 

“Gran was an initiate of her Grove back in Wales,” she answered. “That’s where Da learned the trade, from Gran’s Great-Uncle Milburn. Me, I just have hunches.” 

 

“She puts things together from clues,” Dennis added. He wiped excess ink off with an alcohol swab then went back to work on the fine lines of the wolf. “We saw that hedge on the news, the one you used to protect the horses, and Gran knew.  Dee started the sketches then, after Gran insisted you’d find your way here.” 

 

“She’s always right,” Deidre agreed. “Best to not argue with her.” 

 

Quicker than expected, Philip put the needle down and began rifling through a drawer that held small containers. He sniffed and dipped his pinkie in, tasted a few, then separated three on the table top and two more in his hand. 

 

“Which do you like better?” He held first one then the other under Clint’s nose. Spicy notes of cardamom and cinnamon drew him back to the first. 

 

“This one. Smells like warm cookies.” 

 

Philip mixed that one with the three, combining them all into a gel like lotion that he spread as a moisturizer over Clint’s skin.. Splaying a hand over the tattoo, Philip rested his other at the base of Clint’s neck, leaning down so he spoke only to Clint. 

 

“As water is to earth, as earth is to tree, as tree is to sky, so too am I to you and you to me. Let one be two, two be one, four elements together and apart, separate and whole.” 

 

The familiar pull of scar tissue tightened along Clint’s shoulder, rising to a sharp pain then breaking like a worn bow string.  The memory came flooding into his mind, strangely muted in grayscale like old film. 

 

“You always did have a knack for sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong,” Duquesne was saying, the unwavering barrel of his gun pointed at Clint’s chest. 

 

“He’ll keep his mouth shut, won’t you?” Barney pleaded, his eyes wide and hands shaking. 

 

“Carson’s been good to us; you shouldn’t be stealing from him!” Righteous anger swelled up in him, the kind only the young and stupid believed would be enough. 

 

“Clint, shut up,” Barney hissed. “You won’t get me in trouble, will ya?” 

 

“We can’t take that chance.” Duquesne pulled the trigger, the shot echoing in the cavernous empty big tent. The bullet tore towards Clint; just before it hit, Philip stepped in front of him, taking the full impact and stumbling back into Clint’s arms. 

 

“Phil?” Clint opened his eyes and looked in the mirror; Philip smiled back at him. 

 

“It’s both of ours now,” Philip told him. “We carry it together.” 

 

LIfting up, Clint gently rolled his shoulder; no tug, no twinge, nothing but free movement. “I don’t deserve you.”

 

“You do and I’ll remind you of that later,” Philip promised.  

 

While they waited on Steve to be finished, Deidre ran down the street to a Russian bakery and came back with delicious powdery tea cake cookies and spiced tea.  Licking his fingers, Clint polished off six in sort order as he watched Dennis put the last touches on the background.  

 

“What do you think?” Dennis asked. 

 

Steve blinked twice, stared at the image, then cleared his throat. “It’s … ah … yeah, I like it.”

 

“You should bless it,” Deidre suggested. “Da always says a tat’s not done until it’s blessed.” 

 

“Do you …” Philip started to ask. 

 

“Would you …” Steve started to say. 

 

They laughed; Philip went back to the drawer and picked out a different set of containers for Steve.  Covering the new tattoo with his palm, Philip said, “Strength comes from the heart and knowing what is right.  Like a tree with deep roots, may you be not be moved by the storm and stay true until the end.”

 

As Philip removed his hand, the star at the center of the inner circle changed; red ink filled the outline, not the bright red of Steve’s suit, but a deeper crimson like drying blood. 

 

Steve glanced at Philip. “Was that supposed to happen?”

 

“It’s a portend,” Deidre said. “I’ve heard about them, but never seen one.”

 

“What does it mean?” Clint asked. 

 

“Time will tell.” Philip shrugged. “At some point …”

 

Steve and Clint’s phones went off at the same time. 

 

“Got to run,” Clint said, taking out his wallet to pay. 

 

* * *

 

“Tony! Watch your six!” Steve called. “A batch is coming through the rift and they’ve got four new sets of wings.” 

 

“Well, isn’t that peachy.” Tony twisted out of the reach of a slashing leg. “Who gave them pixie dust?”

 

“They’re evolving,” Jemma said. “Each new generation has new attacks and genetic changes to provide protection.  They’re learning and adjusting.”

 

“Like Pokemon,” Leo added, his eyes trained on the data read out from his drones. “Sleepy, Doc, Sneezy, and Bashful are ready to enter the rift. Got to get past …” 

 

A bug caught one of the little black squares and smashed it with its pinchers. 

 

“Oh, poor Sneezy!” Jemma patted Leo on the shoulder. “Did you program them for defensive avoidance?”

 

“Of course I did,” Leo shot back. “Watch this.” 

 

Clint winged another arrow at a batch of bugs that were charging at Steve; from the roof of the the Jacksonville University Library,  Clint could see the rift, glowing brightly near the four lane highway that bisected the campus.  Sweating in the Alabama heat,  he kept watch over the two scientists, giving them room to work amid the chaos of the fight. 

 

“Ready to enter … in three, two, one …” Leo counted down. “And we’re in!  Data download beginning …”

 

A blur of spinning staff, Philip held his ground, blocking one way out of the greenway.  

 

“Temperature … 92 fahrenheit. Oxygen levels are good, atmosphere is breathable.”

 

Thor smashed his way through the biggest mass of chittering creatures as the Hulk swung a bug in each fist, clearing the way. 

 

“Cameras up and running.” A grainy picture filled the tiny screen.  “More of the aliens. Something that looks like a green tree … the lumens are much higher …”

 

The pulse of light blasted, sweeping across the ground; behind it, the rift snapped. A hum vibrated in Clint’s inner ear; it rose in pitch and turned into an eerie insect scream. The bugs began to thrash, some rolling onto their backs, others skittering for the tree line. A few even turned on each other, biting and ripping the nearest thing apart. 

 

“I lost them!” Leo cursed loudly. “Some sort of EMP.” 

 

“These guys are going crazy!” Tony shouted. “There’s a group of them trying to burrow underground near the football stadium.” 

 

“They’re seriously unhappy,” Scott Lang said. “ Like, I can suddenly sense them?  It’s … whoa, hold on there, big fella. I’m not going to hurt you.”

 

Clint lowered his bow, the bugs more interesting in getting away than attacking.  “Phil? We’ve got a batch making a break for it towards the President’s house.”

 

“I see them,” Philip replied. “I’ll turn them back.” 

 

The fight devolved into a clean up as the bugs hurled themselves into traffic and raced away from them, avoiding all conflict.  Scott managed to bring two under his control, calming them and moving them away from the others.  In less than an hour, Clint was packing up his gear and stowing it in the Quinjet as Steve and Tony argued about where to take the newly friendly creatures. 

 

“I’m telling you, that’s not a lens flare,” Fitz was saying as Clint sat down in the seat next to him. “It’s a reflection.” 

 

“It could be,” Jemma agreed, “but it could be something else entirely. You’re jumping to conclusions without enough data again.” 

 

“What do you think?” Fitz showed Clint the image on the screen.  “Right before the drones went down. See it?  Right there.” 

 

Squinting, Clint looked at the small dark line that seemed to hover in the air, above the leaf of a plant and the tip of an antenna. He pulled it out with his fingers, made it 3-D and spun it around.  The outlines became clearer. 

 

“Looks like a finger to me.” 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Avengers have a plan which, as usual, doesn't survive the first encounter with the enemy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wrote this while traveling, so there's probably a lot of more errors than usual. Posting it as I'm on a train. :)

Warm and languid, Clint floated between waking and sleep, Philip’s arms cradling him close.  Spooned into Philip’s hold, Clint sighed as Philip’s fingers traced over his skin in slow strokes. Thoughts muddled and mixed, somewhere between dream and reality, Clint felt weightless, caught in the moment before gravity took hold to pull him back into full awareness. 

 

Lips tickled his neck as one of Philip’s hands slid lower;  easy strokes and he stirred, all ready half hard from the lazy circles Philip was making with his own hips, nudging his hard cock against Clint with each pass. Clint slipped his hand behind him, clutching at Philip’s ass, urging him for more. All night, he’d dreamt of flying, the two of them wound together, soaring over the patchwork pattern of fields below.  Now, he dragged in a breath as Philip rolled away to  prepare, rolling onto his back and cracking his eyes to watch Philip roll on the condom and position himself between Clint’s legs. Exhaling when Philip filled him in one motion, Clint’s body welcome the fullness, relished the push and pull,  still loose from their lovemaking the night before.  

 

Then, they’d been riding high on adrenaline from the fight, needy and rushed.  Now, they existed apart from the world, a bubble of warm pleasure where time didn’t matter. Leisurely kisses, exploring expanse of skin, every scar and bump juxtaposed with slippery shifts of joined bodies.  Completely given over to the feeling, Clint clasped his hand around Philip’s hips, held on and jumped. Wings unfurled from Philip’s back, spreading wide before curling around them , enclosing Clint within fluttering feathers.  Clint gasped and reached for one, winding his fingers through the softness. 

 

“Oh,” Philip groaned. “Yes. Please.” 

 

Each caress wound Philip higher until each thrust rocked Clint to his core. Seeing Philip come undone was enough to send Clint over the edge, coming hard in a long series of spurts. Somewhere in the middle of his orgasm, Philip lifted up, changed angles, pressed his fingers along Clint’s hip, and brought a second wave to match his own. 

 

“Wing kink. I get it now.” Clint kissed the smooth skin behind Philip’s ear as he lay, collapsed and breathing hard, across Clint’s chest. “We are so doing that again.” 

 

“Ummmm,” was Philip’s only reply.  

 

Tiny claws dug into Clint’s toe; he yelped and jerked his foot. “Ow!”

 

The kitten danced away, back arched as he pounced again, this time nipping at the other foot. 

 

“He’s practicing hunting skills.” Philip smiled fondly at the cat. “He’s doing well. The element of surprise is important.”’

 

“He’s biting my toes.” Clint scooped the kitten up by the scruff of his neck. “Seriously, cat?” Tiny paws batted at Clint’s hand. “Okay, fine, I’m getting up to feed you.”

 

When they joined the others, it was clear that neither Tony nor Leo had slept;  wrinkled clothes and empty k-pods matched their bloodshot eyes. Frame by frame, the short video they’d managed to capture before the drones were lost was splayed on the walls. Jemma was curled up on the couch, a pillow tucked under her head and Leo’s jacket over her legs. 

 

“Well, you look like you just got laid.” Tony grabbed Clint by the elbow. “Good. I need your eyes  and a fresh view.  Look at these and tell me what I’m missing.” 

 

He studied each picture once, went back through them again, then passed them onto Natasha when she showed up.  A nagging prickle in his lower back made him restless; time was passing and they were no closer to understanding their adversaries.  He thought about it as he ate a ham and cheese sandwich for lunch, rolling all the variables in his head as everyone else buzzed around him, working on their different projects. 

 

In the back of the lab, half hidden behind a tarp and a pile of broken machine parts, he found a dry erase board; scrounging through nearby drawers, he came up with a purple, a red, and a green marker. Starting at the top left corner, he began jotting down what they knew.  No supposition or theories, just a list of facts. The dates of each incursion, who was there, and how many got away.  The locations … two universities and a horse farm? 

 

“The University of Kentucky had a teaching facility there,” Natasha said. “So all three had some research going on.”

 

Clint nodded and added that detail.  Then he started a new column with the various ways the bugs had evolved. Resistance to adamantium. Changes to the thorax and new armoring on the underbelly. Ability to absorb magic. 

 

“Had to switch frequencies,”  Scott tossed out; Clint wrote it down. 

 

Beside the changes, Clint wrote the ways they’d ended each encounter.  Then the current known whereabouts of the bugs that escaped and who was tracking them. When he ran out of room on the board, Jarvis projected another next to it, glowing letters appearing as Clint wrote. 

 

Next was the ancient stories from Asgard and the Inhumans. Karnac had sent more info which Clint listed whether it made sense or not. He dredged his memories for any tidbit, jotting them into whatever column he thought they’d fit. 

 

“If there’s seven bugs out there, why are they opening one rift at a time?” Steve asked as he surveyed the board. “We’d be stretched thin if they did them all at once.”

 

While he started a list of questions, Jemma put the data from the drones up. 

 

“They did the same on my world.” Philip spoke up from behind Clint.  “Three single rifts, then ten at once. We were overwhelmed.” 

 

“They’re testing our response and evolving to combat our strengths,” Thor theorized. “It is good that we have other warriors who have not yet faced them in battle. We should hold them as a surprise.”

 

“Don’t forget Laurel and Hardy,” Hope said. “I’m convinced they were being controlled somehow.  They’re showing no violent tendencies now; in fact, they’re bonding quite well with other insects.”

 

“Laurel and Hardy?” Steve asked. 

 

She shrugged. “I like old comedies.” 

 

“So, let’s see,” Clint stepped back to get a broader look. “What do we have?”

 

“Someone or something is controlling them,” Tony stated. 

 

“Someone or something is able to create new generations with modified DNA overnight,” Natasha said. 

 

“Or change existing creatures on the molecular level in a short period,” Jemma added. 

 

“They’ve done this before,” Bruce offered. 

 

“And almost defeated the Asgardians and the Kree,” Steve tossed in. 

 

“They won, most likely, through closing the rifts permanently.” Stephen Strange stroked his beard. “Given the creatures still exist, we can assume they didn’t travel to their world and destroy them.”

 

“An abused animal will lash out,” Philip mused. “That would explain why they kill indiscriminately. They’re in pain and trying to get away.” 

 

“But what does their master want?” Clint tilted his head as if looking at an angle would offer a new revelation. “Are we looking at someone who wants to take over worlds? Or who just wants to burn them down?” 

 

“That’s the million dollar question, isn’t it.” Logan’s face appeared on a screen. “It’s time we take the fight to them and find out.”

 

“Agreed,” Steve said. “I’ve got the cloaking device and Stephen can give me …”

 

“Whoa, Bud. I’m the one who’s going through,” Logan interrupted.  “We all know I’ve got the best chance of surviving. Besides, you just saved the world; give the other guys a chance.”

 

“He’s right.” Tony looked at Steve. “Saw him get up after getting shot in the head, plus he’s just too stubborn to die.”

 

“So all you have to do is get me those devices …” Logan paused, glancing over his shoulder. “Damn it, someone’s seen the thing; gotta go. Let me know when the next rift opens and I’ll be there.” 

 

“How do we get this to him if he’s running around, chasing bugs?” Scott asked, holding the black disc.

 

“I can handle that,” Clint jumped in. “Got the perfect arrow for planting a bug; it should work. And we know I won’t miss.”

 

“Okay, now we have a plan. This is good.” Tony slapped Steve on the back.  “I’m going to eat. Anybody else hungry? What did I have last? Jarvis?” 

 

“A hot dog from the cart out front two days ago, sir.”

 

“No wonder I’m feeling peckish. Fitzsimmons? What are you in the mood for?”

 

Tony wandered out of the room, almost everyone in tow; Clint swiped the screens, saving the data and closing them down, until only the white board remained. 

 

“Clint.” Philip caught his wrist and turned him. “This plan … I knew the three who went through the rift. The best mage, warrior and priest, and  yet none of them came back.”

 

“Logan’s the best choice,” Clint assured him.  “He’s practically indestructible and he’s a good fighter. Don’t tell him I told you that.”

 

“It’s just …” Philip paused. “I have watched friends die in battle, felt the pain of their loss, and yet I never fett any hesitancy, a desire to warn them, to keep them safe …”

 

“Yeah, I understand. I mean, I’m not going to stop volunteering or doing stupid stuff like jumping off building … if I can get a better shot, save more people, I’m going to do it.  That just who I am,” Clint explained. “And you’re the type who won’t back down in the face of a challenge, I get that. But I kind of want you to hang back, take it easy too. With my luck, the universe will give me a glimpse at something as good as you then yank it away.”

 

“Such a grim view of fate.” Philip brushed his thumb along Clint’s jaw. “I would never ask you to change; your heroic nature is one of the most attractive things about you … behind your ass and your arms, of course. I want you the way you are, Clint, but I reserve the right to hope we both survive so we can fully explore this bond between us.”

 

Clint was at a loss for words; no one had ever stated it so simply and been so unconditional. His past relationships had always ended with the other person wanting to fix his flaws, make him better. That Philip understood, was just like him, well, that was more than Clint ever thought to ask for. 

 

“I do have defined biceps.” His mouth engaged before his brain caught up “But they need some ink, don’t you think?  A hawk, at least. Gotta have one of those.”

 

“Indeed.” Philip chuckled. “An arm guard bracer on this forearm.” He caught Clint’s right hand. “And the circle of rowan further up.”

 

He leaned in and brushed his lips over Philip’s; the tattoo on his back flared with warmth, a small tug  of shared emotion. Kissing Philip was too easy; he could stay here, in the easy circle of arms, and let the rest of the world go on without them. 

 

“Oh, I’m  … um … I didn’t mean … I just came for my notepad,” Jemma stammered. She grabbed a tablet off the table. “It’s so … you look so much like him but Coulson dates women and he and Barton were on the same team for years and ... “ Her eyebrows rose. “You didn’t … you weren’t … oh, that would … I should ask … but why …”  She trailed off, eyes losing focus for a moment. “Oh, I do tend to go on. Forgive me for interrupting; it’s nice to see some happiness in the  middle of all this.”

 

“That was … odd, wasn’t it?” Clint asked after she left the room.

 

“Very much so,” Philip assured him. “Perhaps we should …”

 

A new rift has opened Ponca City, Oklahoma,” Jarvis announced. “Captain Rogers needs you in the ready room.” 

 

Clint only managed to get his tac pants on before the second one appeared in Phoenix, Arizona. The third came only moments later in Calgary, Canada. Hurried decisions were made about how to split up; no one suggested Clint and Philip split up, only that they were bound for the rift where Logan was already in the thick of things. All too quickly it was obvious they needed more people; Xavier called up all the Xmen and Strange left to warn the Sanctums. 

 

When they stepped through the portal, Steve by their side, Clint whistled under his breath.  Swarming over the pipes and tanks of a Conoco oil refinery, the creatures formed a living carpet that seethed as they moved.  The glimmer of the rift, off to their left, was on top of one of the round reservoirs, the bugs spilling down the sides to swarm around Logan who was so overwhelmed he almost wasn’t visible except for the reflected glints off his adamantium claws.  

 

“Damn.”  Clint surveyed the scene. “Best vantage is going to be that pipe over there.” He took out the modified cloaking device and pressed it.  “Keep your head up.”

 

With a brush of fingers along Philip’s arm, Clint took a running start and leaped for the nearest pipe, using it as a balance beam as he ran along the top.  Twice he ran into bugs; both times he jumped, somersaulting over them without stopping; they never twitched or noticed him. Finding a good angle, he drew a suction arrow, slipped Strange’s ring over the end and locking it down, sighting and waiting until a portion of Logan’s arm became clear. 

 

“Incoming,” he murmured into his ear piece. “Don’t bat it away, Wolfie.”

 

“‘Bout time,” Logan grumbled. “Did you stop for Starbucks?”

 

“Nah I prefer Costa.” Clint saw Logan throw off  the bugs climbing over him, yank the arrow free, and take the ring before he reached for the next arrow. “Get ready for next one.”

 

Before he could affix the small black button, a roiling mass engulfed Logan who cussed loudly as they latched onto his arms and legs, lifting him up as they slashed with their legs, flying away from the rift. 

 

“What the fuck?” Steve cursed. “It’s like they knew!”

 

Clint’s vision narrowed as he saw the pathway clearing, the bugs hurrying away now that they thought the rift was safe. In a flash of foreknowledge, certainty settled in his gut; this was that moment when the universe gave him the worst of choices. He glanced Philip’s way, but he was busily swinging his staff, in the thick of the fray.  

 

The grappling arrow flew true, landing on a low hanging pipe just above the rift. 

 

“Okay, gang, somebody better come get me,” he said, slapping the zip strap across the line. “I’ll be really put out if I have to find my own way home.” 

 

Gravity tugged and he sped towards the glowing crack between universes. 

 

“I will,” Philip promised. “The bond ties ...”

 

The voice cut off as Clint went through. 

  
  
  
  
  



	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm back from my forced journey into the wilds of Real Life. Took far too long to get this chapter written, but here it is! 
> 
> The next one will be up within a week. So glad you've all stayed with me on this trip, especially since I haven't had time to replly to comments. I'm working on those this weekend.

Sweat pooled in the small of his back, his tac suit a sodden weight of wet fabric that clung to his skin.  Under his bare arms, the giant leaf he lay on was covered in a light fuzz that had tickled at first but was now the locus of a red rash that climbed up his biceps.  Beneath him, bugs sprawled on the ground, using every inch of shade the leaves of the tall plant provided to avoid the harsh glare of the stationary light source above.  At least Clint had found his own slightly darkened spot by climbing up the spongy trunk; he already had the beginning of a sunburn on cheeks from the short time between diving through the rift and finding this perch. 

 

So far, he’d determined that he needed to find water and food … one of the many variables he hadn’t taken into account before he leaped. From what he could see with his enhanced field glasses, this place held little more than more strange green trees, sandy dirt, and bugs galore.  Everywhere he looked, the creatures filled the monotonous landscape, a seething carpet that made it neigh on impossible for him to move. 

 

Still, he’d made a number of important discoveries. When the rift had closed, not more than five minutes after Clint came through, the bugs immediately dropped to the ground, many thrashing their legs and rolling on their sides, eventually subsiding until they lay almost motionless.   Those who won the coveted shady spots occasionally twitched; the others closed their legs and wings in on themselves and stopped all motion. From his vantage point, he’d studied the warped wall where the rift had been, all trace of the opening gone. The bugs avoided it, their distorted reflections a ghost like against a background of black shadows mixed with dots of white. Like an old timey mirror with a silver back, the image was bowed and contorted; he’d gotten a hand on the cold surface for a bare second before he’d beaten a hasty retreat to avoid being mowed down by agitated bugs.  The most surprising detail, though, was the shallow depth of the bugs’ world. Another wall of the same material was plainly visible; Clint estimated the total distance between the two no more than 200 yards. 

 

A dark shape moved behind the wall, solid center and long, slender, indistinct appendages.  Up and up one extended and then, with a loud clack, the light abruptly shut off, leaving Clint in darkness.  The temperature dropped in seconds, and the bugs began to shift, coming awake and standing up. Those under the leaves moved out into the open, and they all raised their antenna, waving them as they looked up. 

 

Rain began to fall, fat heavy drops of liquid that bounced off the bugs and splattered onto the dry ground.  A steady curtain poured off the edge of the leaf above; Clint rolled up and grabbed an empty canister from his quiver. He caught a few drops then closed the cap tightly, careful to avoid getting on him. Tony’s suit could probably tell if it was safe to drink, but Clint could only wait and see. The bugs seemed to enjoy it, rolling in the dirt and turning it to mud. They caked their exoskeleton with it then hunkered down below the leaves, dividing up into pairs and larger groups. 

 

As the rhythm continued,  Clint lay flat on his back; he let his eyes go unfocused as he tracked the moving lights on the other side of the wall. He switched his glasses to ultraviolet then to infrared; rectangular masses of heated bodies could be otherbugs, but he was more interested in the larger cold spot with six appendages and rectangular body.  It fluttered around near some of the brighter lights, legs and arms or whatever in constant movement. 

 

The only warning Clint got was a throb just above his jawline before the tree started vibrating, pulses shaking the ground below. Holes appeared in the dirt, metal plates sliding opening to reveal tunnels with neatly packed walls. The bugs erupted  with chitters and squeals, darting into the openings and disappearing. Rolling to the edge, Clint flipped over, dropping to the ground; he peered after the retreating legs with his night vision turned on. Taking advantage of the moment, he walked to the wall, tapping his fingers lightly on the slippery surface.  It was smooth and cool; his regular arrowheads didn’t leave a scratch, so he tried his adamantium then the vibranium ones. Keeping an eye on the alien outside, he dug a simple X into the material, testing it for thickness and resilience. After sinking the sharp edge in an inch did he feel give; he marked the spot with a bit of tracing gel to find later. 

 

There was nothing left but to go down the rabbit hole like Alice; he had to shuffle with his knees bent to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling, but he could navigate the angled tamped down floor. Down it went for two minute before he came across the first bolt holes.  Bugs pressed against the earthen walls, avoiding the clear wall portion; they shivered, the air noticeably cooler the further Clint went. The tunnel branched, smaller ones leading to other cavelike areas; it struck Clint after he’d investigated the fourth one exactly where he was.  An ant farm, that’s what this was, complete with views for the Keeper to watch the bugs. 

 

Unsure how deep the tunnel went, Clint kept going until he found rougher tunnels that took off at odd angles, sharp inclines that made it difficult to get inside.  Curiosity got the better of him; he crawled up one until he could see a small circular area that didn’t about the wall; two bugs curled around tiny forms, protecting them from the cold with their own body heat. Babies. The only offspring Clint had seen in a room where the Keeper couldn’t see them.  

 

Loose dirt rained down from the ceiling as the vibrations grew suddenly stronger.  One of the adults jumped up, heading right at Clint. Tumbling into the cavern to avoid being trampled, he expected the other bug to follow, but instead it sheltered the babies, wrapping them under its wings. Rather than rushing down the tunnel, the bug stopped and scooped dirt with its back legs to plug the entrance with its body.  

 

The high pitch of bugs’ screams cut through Clint’s temples and made his teeth rattle.  He scrabbled in his pack for his earplugs, fumbling them in and cutting the sound to a dull roar. The bug in the tunnel jerked and flailed and then pieces began to disintegrate, falling to dust. Back legs grew sharper spikes along the outer edge. Chitinous armor was replaced by a speckled and rough, more rounded hard skin. A second pair of wings emerged on the last body section.

 

So this was how they evolved, Clint thought.  Probably some kind of ultrasound or other wave that set off the changes. Programmed from the information from the last fight. No wonder the bugs kept winning; they were the ultimate perfect enemy, desperate, adaptive, and expendable. 

 

Shaking off the dirt, the bug backed into the chamber, turning its larger head, multifaceted eyes landing right on Clint. It clacked new jaw pinchers and charged at Clint. 

 

“Whoa, there big fella!” Clint put up his hands, glad his bow was folded and stowed. “I’m not here to cause trouble. I’m trying to help you.” 

 

It stopped, tilted its head then blinked rapidly a few times. 

 

“Look, you want to protect your family; I want to protect my friends. We want the same thing.”

 

*No kill*

 

The thought came into his head, more image than words, loud and insistent. “Wow, okay, you have telepathy now?” He slowly eased to the side, away from the little ones. “I’m not going to kill anyone. I promise.”

 

*???? bad*

 

He didn’t get the first part, just a fuzzy blank. “I don’t understand.”

 

This time a sharper picture of multiple arms, glowing eyes through the wall. 

 

“Yeah, he’s a bad guy. That I get.” Clint nodded.

 

Gnawing hunger, bright lights, agonizing pain, constant pain, being out of control … the thoughts flew one after another, followed by anger, burning hot. 

 

“He …” More multi-armed creatures. “They make you attack, take over your body. I understand that.” 

 

Green fields with an orange sky,  purple ocean with rolling waves, yellow desert, and dense clouds covering rocky ground. 

 

“Not just my world; we know they’ve been doing this a long time.” Clint glanced over at the little ones -- they were creepy crawly bugs, but they were just babies. Everything deserved a chance to live. “Look, I can bring down the walls of this cage …”

 

The bug shook its head and chittered loudly; Clint didn’t need any help understanding the very resounding no. 

 

“Right, there’s the whole control your mind bit.  What I need is to figure out how they’re doing it, take out the power source … I’m good at blowing things up,” Clint mused. “I could make a small opening, slip out and do some recon …” 

 

A pincer caught him around the waist, gently squeezing just enough to pick him up.  

 

“I could have just followed you,” Clint groused as the bug charged through the small tunnel and out into the broader one. “No need to get grabby.” 

 

It headed downward, chittering constantly at all the other bugs that came to see to the commotion. They followed along, clogging the tunnel with waving antenna and flickering wings.  If he’d walked, Clint would have been overtaken by the mob, but the bug carrying him kept him up and out of the mass of bodies. Steep inclines seemed to go for miles, twenty minutes passing as they wove their way through an underground maze, slipping through round rooms where other bugs hid their progress from anything outside. 

 

Finally, they reached a room with a smooth floor that felt like stone.  The light was dim, barely filtering through the wall; only foggy darkness spread beyond.  The bug put his down and nudged him towards the corner. 

 

“Nobody watching here, eh?” Clint took out the vibranium arrow and scratched a large oval in the material. Over and over again, he carved deeper with each pass, tilting the arrow shaft out and the tip of the blade inward.  Once he broke through, he caught the weight of the oval on his shoulder, easing it down until it’s own mass finished the job for him. Fresh air filtered in, cool and welcoming; he’d gotten used to the smell of inside the colony. 

 

“I’ll go find …” Before he could finish, the bug who’d brought him here was through the opening;  it turned around and chittered at him. “Okay, guess we’ll do it your way.” 

 

Along the hard surface, Clint followed the bug, chasing in and out of strange colored obelisks and long golden cords. He had time to wonder what he was doing … he never looked before he leaped and this was no exception … but helping the bugs? How did he know he was doing the right thing? He should be trying to get home, bring back the info they needed.  

 

A tentacle reached in front of Clint, wrapping around a mint green crystal like structure. Hunkering down behind a pot, Clint got his first glimpse of the alien.  Grey rubbery skin, hairless, tall with no discernable waist or legs, it blinked large oval solid green eyes as it slipped the piece into an open slot in what looked like a mosaic laid out across the counter. It ran the sucker tip of a tentacle over a specific series … pink, amber, green, yellow … and the light came on in one of the other colonies. 

 

Taking note of the position of the crystals, Clint watched as a second combination sent the bugs in that farm into a frenzy, banging against the wall and pouring out of the underground tunnels.  With a flick of five more, the alien opened a rift and the bugs began pouring through. Burning the order into his memory, Clint calculated trajectories and angles to take out the aquamarine crystal and cut the mind control.  

 

Beside Clint, the bug touched him with its leg; images flowed quickly … a shattered crystal and colony walls, a wave of bugs attacking the alien.  Nodding, Clint slotted a shaft into a vibranium tip, added a small explosive, then took a deep breath before he stood, aimed, and let it fly. The collision was spectacular; not only did the blue one blow up into tiny bits, but so did the ones around it, a rain of multi-colored bits that covered the workspace.

 

The alien made a whistling sound, sweeping a tentacle over the mess and leaving drops of orange blood behind.  Before it could turn their way, Clint fitted another explosive arrow and fired it at the marked he’d made on the colony wall; the already weakened area gave way and a crack ran across the surface, spreading until the weight of the dirt and bugs pushing against it bending it outward. 

 

A wild gyration preceded the alien’s high pitched shriek; it dashed towards the splintering material, only to be covered in a flutter of wings and slashing legs. Reeling back, it flung its appendages, trying to ward off the attack.  There weren’t enough of the bugs; the alien gained its footing and reached for the crystals. 

 

The bug next to Clint nudged him; arrow and explosion came through clearly. 

 

“Yeah, I’ve only got the one vibranium tip; used the adamantium one to get out of your cage,” Clint told him, holding out his bow as he explained. “Not going to be able to break through that …”

 

Waving its antennas, the bug interrupted, chittering and rubbing its legs.  The dirt shifted in the mound of debris from the colony; small flying insects rose up, arrow tips carefully pinched between their claws, and flew towards Clint.  The babies dropped the heads and landed on the counter. 

 

“Or we could do that.” Clint loaded his quiver and readied an arrow. “Okay, kids. Let’s play fetch.”

 

With each colony wall that fell, more and more bugs swarmed the alien. It failed around, smashing one of the farms as he tried to shake the insects off.  slamming against the wall, the alien hit a panel and a panel slid up; wan purple light poured in, and Clint saw a whole city spread out on the other side of the glass, aliens moving along the walkways and bugs zipping along behind them. 

 

“Aw, fuck.” Clint surveyed the scene then turned back to the mess of shattered crystals. “I knew fate had it out for me.”

 

He dropped down and hung his feet over the edge of the counter, ignoring the weakening cries of the alien. The enormity of the situation hit him;  no way to get back and a no idea exactly where he was or what to do next. That the others were trying to find him, he didn’t doubt, but how? Clint didn’t have Strange’s ring and the stealth button was no longer working after the last evolution.  How could they locate him? He might not even be in the same universe. 

 

A little head bumped his elbow and another nudged his thigh.  The babies crawled into Clint’s lap, demanding attention; he couldn’t scratch their hard shell, so he stroked their antenna and they began to vibrate, humming in their throat. 

 

“Of course I’m stuck here.  What did I think would happen? I’m such an idiot,” he mused out loud. “And now I’m talking to you like you’ll understand;  been hanging around Philip too long, now I’m expecting animals to answer. Druid Boy’s rubbing off on me.” 

 

Despite everything, he chuckled at his own bad pun. “Rubbing off, get it? Not going to be any rubbing or anything now.” 

 

With a sigh, he gently lifted the babies from his lap and stood up. “Pity party over. If I do ever see Tony again, he’ll be pissed if I don’t bring back stuff for him to tear apart.”  

 

He made his way towards the window, jumping from table to table and using any small lip to balance on.  “72% power. Well, at least one thing’s going my way,” Clint said as he powered up his slim starkphone. Photos from lots of angles, that’s what he set about doing.  The city outside was first; close ups and panorama’s filled his data card. Then he took a series of the smashed console and all the crystals around it. Picking up small pieces, he tucked them away in a pouch for Bruce to examine.  Nothing was left out; dirt from the colonies, samples of the plant, and, after he figured out how to get down to the floor, bits of what was left of the alien. 

 

Packing it all away, Clint had just about decided the next step was to get out of the room when his friend landed next to him and chittered away. Home, the bug projected, along with green grass, orange lakes, and a grey sky. 

 

“Yeah, of course. Go home. Raise your family,” Clint agreed. 

 

The bug shook its head and tried again. Home. Safe. Warm. Go. 

 

“Right. I got it. You’re going home,” Clint said. “Don’t worry about me; I can take care of myself.” 

 

Antenna brushed his forearm then touched his temples, one on each side. 

 

HOME. SAFE. WARM. SEND FRIEND.

 

Clint stepped back, the mental image loudly ringing. “You can send me home?” 

 

Think. Picture. Go.

 

This time the picture was of bugs opening rifts and moving through them on a different planet. 

 

“You’re the ones who … the aliens need you to open the rifts.” Understanding dawned.  “So if I think of home, you can get me there. Okay, okay, let me …” 

 

He thought of his room in the Tower, his favorite chair, his bow safe, and the purple afghan Natasha had made him. 

 

The bug’s antenna touched him again. Home. Safe. Warm. 

 

“That is …” Clint shook his head. “Okay. I can do this.” 

 

Now he focused on the Earth itself, grassy fields and waves on the beach. 

 

HOME. SAFE. WARM. NEED.  Parents wrapped around their offspring, two adult bugs curled together. 

 

“What do I need?” Clint thought about it. “Or who?” 

 

Natasha, sparring with him in the gym, tendrils of hair sticking to her sweaty cheek. Sitting with him on the couch, cold toes tucked under his thigh.  

 

A tingle started in his lower back, warmth flowing out from his new tattoo. 

 

As water is to earth, earth is to tree, tree is to sky, so too am I to you …

 

Philip’’s voice slid over Clint’s skin, a tender caress to his senses. Soothing water, floating together, soft hands on his hips, hot breath on his neck, waking wrapped in Philip’s arms. The tingle became a tug and Philip’s words continued. 

 

Let one be two, two be one …

 

“Phil.” Clint whispered the name like a blessing. 

 

Home. Safe. Warm. Need … Mate.

 

Clint opened his eyes; a rift drifted just a few feet away, a long tear that glowed with bluish light.  fresh air wafted through, and the tattoo on Clint’s back steadily thrummed. He paused and nodded to the bug.  

 

“Thanks, and good luck.”

 

He dove through; his hands touched grass and he tucked and rolled, coming up on his feet as the rift closed behind him.  A green field spread around him, the tree line a good 100 yards way on his left. Crisp air raised goosebumps on his arms as the morning dew soaked his boots. Even as he took everything in, a shadow fell across the meadow; Philip landed, folding his wings but not putting them away. 

 

“Clint.” Philip closed the distance; reaching out, he gently touched Clint’s cheek. “You’re here.” 

 

“Yeah, I’m a bad penny; I just keep turning …” Clint’s words were cut short by Philip’s lips as he caught him up in a long kiss. Arms wrapped around each other, no space between, they melted into one; Clint relaxed into Philip’s hold, ignored the whir of repulsors and the sounds of approaching feet, and accepted the truth of their bond. 

 

“Hi, Tony. I’m back, Tony. The threat is over, Tony.” 

 

Clint stopped kissing Philip long enough to glance at Stark. He pulled out his phone and tossed it over. “Don’t say I never gave you anything, Iron Ass. There’s more in my pouches too.” 

 

“How did you get back?” Steve asked. 

 

When Philip started to move away, Clint kept his arm firmly around Philip’s waist, reeling him in tight to his side. 

 

“Clicked my heels three times and said ‘There’s no place like home’,” Clint quipped. “I may have sort of led a revolution; seems it’s the bugs who open rifts, not the Grey Squidward Alien. Oh, and there’s a ton more of them, creepy cephalopods that is. They use the bugs as their army.” 

 

“Oh, hey, that’s pretty gruesome.” Tony opened his mask and peered at the phone. “Yikes. That’s one ugly octopus. I think. I can’t tell which piece goes where.” 

 

“So it’s over?” Steve looked over Tony’s shoulder. “Or …”

 

“I think they’ve been doing this for centuries,” Clint said. “It can’t just be this one. But, on the bright side, we figure out how to break the mental control and the bugs will gladly turn on them.” 

 

“Let’s get this back to the lab.” Tony lifted off the ground. “You can fill us in there.” 

 

“First thing I’m going to do is eat and drink. Haven’t had anything since I went through the rift,” Clint told them. “Then I want a shower, a warm bed, preferably with Phil in it. You can get started without me.” 

 

“Nothing to …” Philip drew back in concern. “How did you survive without water? I know there must be differences in the human body, but I couldn’t go that long.”

 

“Twelve hours?” Clint raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, I’m thirsty but I’m okay.” 

 

“Clint, you’ve been gone almost three weeks. Strange couldn’t find you and neither could Professor X. We’ve been looking the whole time,” Steve told him. 

 

“Weeks? Wow.” Clint processed the information. “Guess time does fly, eh?” 

 

“Nice having you back, Legolas.” Tony flipped his face place down. “We missed you.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some eagle eyed readers caught a couple of hints I laid in early chapters. I love it when I see you guys pick up on stuff like that. 
> 
> And we all knew the bond would bring Clint home, right?


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our tale comes to an end ... a happily ever after, of course, since that's my favorite kind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for keeping up with this fic, especially when real life intruded between chapters. I sincerely hope you enjoyed it!

“... wealth of data in each sliver. Once we figure out what base they’re working from …”

 

“... an imminent danger or more of a long-term watch  …”

 

“... ballad from the Precambrian era about a sea monster …”

 

“...more empathy than telepathy …”

 

“... the archives have little on any race like …”

 

Clint ignored the chatter in the room; his head was aching, his whole system abuzz with too much caffeine. He managed to get a burger and fries, drink two bottles of water and grab a quick shower, but a long sleep was out of the question as everyone descended upon the Tower.  Feeling like one of the bugs under glass, Clint had been poked and prodded by multiple doctors and talked so much he was growing hoarse. 

 

In the time he’d been gone, the attacks had continued; four days before he’d returned, rifts had stopped opening, the bugs that were here disappearing into the wilds. Stephen Strange had walked through hundreds of worlds and Heimdall had searched the universe for him.  The bugs had dropped Logan into the Gulf of Mexico; it took him a whole week to walk back underwater. Charles Xavier and Steve put a kibosh on anyone else following in Clint’s footsteps, determined to figure out what happened to Clint before putting anyone at risk. 

 

Hands settled on Clint’s shoulders; strong fingers glided along the tense neck muscles and began to dig into the sore points. He dropped his chin to his chest and let Natasha work her magic. 

 

“The docs want to run a few more tests on you,” she said, loud enough for everyone to hear.  

 

“Aw, seriously?” Clint had no clue what she was up to, but if it got him out of this room, he’d take it. “What are they, vampires? They’ve taken enough blood for a banquet.” 

 

“Probably checking for degradation of cells,” Tony said, not looking away from the four screens he was manipulating data on.

 

“You were exposed to the same ray that caused the adaptations to emerge in the bugs,” Bruce agreed with a nod. “We really should watch you over the next few days.” 

 

“Hey, if it means I get wings, I’ll be okay with it.” Clint let Natasha pull him out of the room, her fingers wound in his henley. 

 

“I’ll remind you of that when you sprout more legs!” was Tony’s parting shot. 

 

Clint waited until they were in the elevator before he asked, “Okay, where are we going?” 

 

“Somewhere you can get some sleep before you fall over.” She pressed button for the hanger deck. “They’ll talk for three more days before they miss you.”

 

A quinjet stood ready, ramp down and engine warming up. “You flying me to where Phil is?”

 

She cocked her head and gave him a look. “So it’s Phil now? Hmmmm.”

 

“I’m not getting them mixed up,” he told her. “He’s not our Phil; he’s my Phil.”

 

One eyebrow raised and she only hummed in response. 

 

“Fine, don’t believe me.” Clint shrugged and started up the ramp. “I know, and that’s all that matters.”

 

“The coordinates are set; just have to lift off and touchdown.” She said.

 

“And when I get there?” Clint asked. 

 

“He said he’d leave signs.”

 

Barely fifteen minutes after he turned on the autopilot, he was landing in a field nestled in the Adirondack Mountains.  Outside he found a stake with a purple ribbon; a second was further in the forest, marking a barely discernible trail. Following the path, Clint wandered through the pine and maples; he thumbed off his phone and stopped when he saw a note attached to the bough of a tree. Take off your socks and shoes, it said, before you enter the sacred space. 

 

Stepping into the clearing, he saw Philip puttering around a small structure made of wooden planks. He wiggled his toes in the grass and crossed to a rock lined fire pit surrounded by a couple of logs. A small pond was just beyond, the cattails thick along the edge and fairy moss floating below the surface. 

 

“Is that a lean to?” Clint dropped his boots on the floor, tucking his socks in the top to stop bugs or spiders for taking up residence in the warm interior. The whole east side of the building was open, a pair of curtains pulled back to allow a view of the water and trees from the bed that took up almost all the space under the tilted roof. 

 

“It is.” Philip dropped the rest of the load of wood onto the pile.  “You can rent it for the night, a quite ingenious idea. There’s a bathing tub, outdoor shower, and outhouse close. They provide everything you need.” 

 

“Sacred space, indeed.” Clint sat down on the edge of the bed and sighed; the mattress was the perfect balance of soft and firm. 

 

“Actually, this area is part of a sacred grove; there’s an ancient oak not far and some standing stones in a direct line a few miles hence.”  Philip motioned towards the west. “A ley line runs directly underneath this spot.” 

 

“A perfect place to ... “ Clint caught Philip’s hand and tugged him down. He rolled him underneath him and trapped his with his weight. “ … do a little bonding, eh?”

 

“And here I thought you needed sleep.” Philip rolled his hips. “There’s a lot to be said for the healing power of sex.” 

 

“Well, I did lead a revolution, so I’m entitled to the spoils of war.” He dipped his head and nipped at the edge of Philip’s lips. “Besides, I’m getting a second wind.” 

 

He took his time undressing Philip, the lazy drone of bees and whisper of wind in the trees the only sounds besides their own fractured breaths. Trailing kisses along Philip’s neck, Clint sucked in divots of flesh, leaving his marks on Philip’s skin. He lavished his attention on each nipple, chuckling at Philip’s muffled groans with each pass of his tongue. By the time he peeled off Philip’s pants, Clint was hard and aching in his own jeans, all too glad to shuck them off and straddle Philip’s hips, covering the lean, tattooed body with his own.  The friction of skin-to-skin sent ripples of awareness through Clint and he sank into the bond, joining with Philip and letting his senses stretch. The air called to him, a kindred spirit. The water washed over him, a soothing balm. The earth cradled him, a soft bed. A spark jumped between them when Philip pressed the tube into Clint’s hand and the covered their fingers in the slick gel, prepping each other with long strokes that fanned the flames. 

 

Sliding down, Clint took Philip inside, filling himself deep until he was seated all the way. Bracing his hands on Philip’s chest, he started with slow movements, holding at the top with just the tip of Philip’s cock inside then easing back down. The ripples of pleasure from Philip echoed his own, emotions flickering across Philip’s face.  From the ground beneath them, a rhythm rose, the heartbeat of the earth; Clint matched it and closed his eyes. Power hummed from further, deeper, higher, and Clint rode it, setting a steady pace that drove them both into closer harmony. 

 

“Clint.” Philip cried out his name, lifting his hips and holding onto Clint’s thighs with a tight grip. 

 

“Yes.” Clint squeezed and plunged down just as Philip tipped over in his orgasm, thrusting up twice more before releasing with a sigh.  “That’s it, baby. So good.” 

 

“So good.” Philip caught Clint by his neck and dragged him down for languid kisses, filled with thorough explorations with his tongue and nipping with his teeth. “And still so hard.” 

 

He rolled them over, Clint going willingly, his head on the pillow and one foot hanging off the side of the bed. Clint made a sound of protest when Philip’s lips left his, but then his warm mouth was filled with Clint’s cock and he liked that too.  Far too quickly, he came into the moist heat, and Philip collapsed next to him on the bed with a satisfied sigh. 

 

Rolling on to his side, he gazed at Philip, sleepy, his eyelids drifting closed, and chest slowly rising and falling. “I want you to stay. With me.” He didn’t think about the words, just let them batter past his doubts and be said. “There’s so many places I want to show you.  The Amazon. The Highlands. Nairobi. St. Petersburg. The Sahara. Being beach bums or riding the rapids. Slow days fishing and fast days riding on motorcycles.” He paused. “I mean, if you want to. And for as long as you want to.” 

 

“What if that’s forever?” Philip wrapped his hand around Clint’s and held it over his heart. 

 

“I think I can handle that,” Clint replied. 

 

**SOMETIME LATER**

 

“Wow, that’s impressive.” Natasha peered over Philip’s shoulder. “Tony’s never going to stop hounding you until you do one for him.”

 

The cat bumped his head into Clint’s free hand and tilted his head to be scratched, settling onto Clint’s lap.  “I’m voting for a screaming skull head that’s on fire.”

 

“I’ve got some ideas.” Philip wiped the excess ink with a soft rag. “If he ever comes out of the lab, we’ll talk about it.” 

 

“He and Bruce almost have the control crystal figured out; he’s not coming up for air ‘til that’s done.” Clint glanced at his forearm.  “Is that purple going to stay that bright?”

 

“It will deepen,” Philip turned to clean the needle.  

 

Holding up his arm, Clint examined the finished product.  Covering his skin was an elaborate tattoo filled with purple curving lines outlined in grey that formed a stylized hawk. The dark brown framed the bracer: Philip had filled in areas with a variety of other symbols he’d said were important. He’d even created two straps that circled Clint’s forearm so that, at first glance, it looked like he was wearing an arm guard. 

 

“You going to do that voodoo thing you do?” Clint turned his wrist so he could see a different angle. “You know, we’re two and one and three and such?” 

 

“I can,” Philip replied, screwing the tops on the ink bottles. “But I don’t think Natasha will appreciate the nudity involved, or the …” 

 

“Yeah, I’m out of here.” Natasha bopped Clint on the head as she headed for the door. “Take your fate and run with it, Misha.” 

 

The bigger and elaborate the tattoo, it seemed, the more involved the spellwork became.  And with bonded couples, well … Clint had never thought he had a wing kink, but Philip’s feathers turned out to be an erotic zone, so he had to try new techniques, didn’t he?  

 

**EVEN LATER**

 

Clint stretched his arms over his head, arching his back to relieve the ache.  It had been too long since he done this; he’d forgotten just how much he loved the connection between horse and rider, the rhythm of the gallop, and the feel of a velvety soft nose nuzzled his hand for a treat.

 

“Menath says we’re about halfway to the supply station.” Philip steadily brushed the comb through his horse’s mane; he’d been currying the pair since it was Clint’s night to cook. “His sense of direction is exceptional.” 

 

Philip had taken to horseback like a man born to it; he strode over to the roan stallion and the two had been thick as thieves since.  Clint’s mare Berda, a lovely abiding creature who wanted nothing more than to follow her rider’s lead as long as she got to run on occasion, had put Menath in his place after the first nip and they were all getting along just fine. 

 

“We’re maybe a day out from the Hobbiton set,” Clint pulled the map out of his pack and spread it on the ground. “At this pace, we’ll have an extra night, maybe two, before we hit the river portion of the trip.”

 

“What about that Lodge the lady at the horse farm recommended?  [ Summit ](https://www.tripadvisor.com/Hotel_Review-g657215-d1790732-Reviews-The_Summit_Lodge-Masterton_Wairarapa_Greater_Wellington_North_Island.html) ?” Philip suggested. “We could stay there.” 

 

“Much as I love roughing it, my back wouldn’t mind two nights in a bed.” Clint pulled out his Starkphone and searched for the bed and breakfast’s website.  “Oh, they’ve got Alpacas! And cats.” He sighed. “I do sort of miss the little shit. Imagine that.” 

 

“We could bring him along next time.” Philip dropped the comb into the saddlebag on the ground and unfolded Menath’s blanket. “A little training and he’d be fine.” 

 

“And that’s how I’m going to make my millions. Cat training with Druid Guy. I can see the videos now.”  Rummaging through a bag, Clint pulled out the big pot and began looking for the ingredients he needed. “We’ll travel with a pack of animals; they can have their own superhero suits. Ralph the Wonder Llama .. hey, I haven’t shown you Monty Python yet.  We’ll do that when we get to the B & B.”

 

“There won’t be time,” Philip replied. “I plan to have you in the shower, the tub if there is one, the bed, the chair, and then start all over again.”

 

“Ah.” Clint gave him a lascivious smile. “And here I thought the plan was to have me every way to Friday in the great outdoors.”

 

“That goes without saying.” Philip eyed the empty pot. “And since we’re on the subject, are you really that hungry or can it wait? I saw an ancient rowan just down the hill that is the perfect size to press you up against and fuck you until you scream.” 

 

He dropped the wooden spoon into the pot. “Food? Who needs food?” 

 

**LATER STILL**

 

“We barely got him here on time,” Maria Hill said as she led Steve and Natasha past the medical drapes. “Thank God that Philip was in New York; he and Clint were waiting on us.”

 

“Trust no one,” Steve murmured as he collapsed into a chair. “Is anyone one else coming back from the dead?”

 

“Oh I imagine there’s a few more hiding in Fury’s closet.” Clint leaned against the wall and watched the play of emotions cross his friend’s face.  He’d seen the surveillance footage of the attack on Nick’s car and the fight on the bridge; it was enough to rattle even Captain America. “But SHIELD didn’t know James Barnes was the Winter Soldier.”

 

“All these years. He’s been alive all these years.” Steve shook his head. “I should have gone after him, found him …”

 

“No way are you responsible,” Sam interjected. “Trust me, I know about blaming yourself for a partner’s death. You didn’t know. Plus, you were under the ice, remember?”

 

“What they did to him …” Steve absently rubbed his arm; the cap sleeve of his t-shirt rode up. “I should have been there for him.”

 

“May I?” Philip paused, his fingers hovering near Steve’s sleeve. “Is it itching?”

 

“More like burning.” Steve nodded and Philip pulled up the soft cotton. 

 

Bright red now, the star of his tattoo was centered in shiny silver circles that seemed to shift as Steve moved his arm. 

 

“I think there’s a chance to reach him.” Philip smoothed a hand over the ink. “If your bond is strong enough to imprint when you thought him dead, some of the man you loved must be there.”

 

“Bond?” Steve startled and jumped up from his seat, pulling away from Philip’s touch. “No. Buck and I … he wasn’t … isn’t … we weren’t ...”

 

“Well, that explains a lot,” Sam said. “I”d have risked anything to get Riley back.”

 

Natasha raised an eyebrow; one corner of her lips quirked up. “Indeed.” 

 

“No.” Steve was still protesting. “Bucky and I are friends. He’s not … ”

 

“Noticed he hasn’t denied being in love with the guy,” Clint pointed out. “Just that Barnes isn’t gay.” 

 

“It’s called bisexual,” Natasha said. “Get with the program Clint.”  

 

Steve rubbed his eyes and ran his hand through his hair. “I have lost control of this situation.”

 

“Dude, control is highly overrated,” Sam told him, slapping him on the back. “Come on, Cap, let’s get going.”

 

“We’ll grab our stuff …” Clint started to move, but Steve cut him off. 

 

“No. You and Philip stay here.  If this works, there’ll be good agents who will need help; you two can coordinate rescue operations,” Steve told them. “And if it doesn’t, this place is fortified and can withstand the blast.  Someone’s going to have to lead the rebellion.”

 

“Steve,” Clint protested.   “The three of you …”

 

“Four,” Maria interjected. “And all the agents who side with us.  Steve and the others are splashed all over the news. You and Philip aren’t. Best to keep you in that way.”

 

“I can confuse the targeting systems with magnetic fields,” Philip said. “We’ll help as many as we can.” 

 

“Thanks,” Steve replied. “Glad to have you at our backs.”

 

He nodded to Sam and they left the room.  

 

“Don’t get his hopes up,” Natasha said to Philip.  “I heard rumors about the program; there’s no coming back from that.”

 

A wedge of cold spread through Clint’s chest as he watched Natasha leave. The tiniest shiver ran up his spine. “Guess having her hit Barnes really hard on the head is out of the question then?”

 

A warm hand cupped his chin, turning his face.  “I crossed universes to find you, and the bond brought you home. Nothing … and no one … can come between us. Puny Asgardian gods included.” 

“You are such a romantic,” Clint said, leaning in for a quick kiss.  “Okay, I’m going to call Tony, give him a heads up. He can get Bruce in the panic room and have Jarvis ready to sift through the data when it downloads.” 

 

**AFTER THAT**

 

“Dude, you can’t just kill an Avenger!”  The second goon from the right said. Or was that the left? Clint was hanging upside down from a water pipe in the old abandoned warehouse. “He’s a national treasure or something.” 

 

“Yeah,” the third goon on the other side said. “Who’ll save the world the next time some crazy alien shows up?” 

 

“They’ve got a point.” Clint would have nodded, but the blood rushing to his head was making everything fuzzy. “Might want to listen to your henchmen.”

 

“I don’t give a damn if he can control bugs,” the big guy in a tracksuit said. “He messed with my business and no one gets away with crossing me.”

 

“Seriously? At least you could recognize me.” Clint tensed his thighs and got ready to move.  No one else, it seemed, had noticed that the half-starved guard dog had stopped barking. “When the police interrogate you, be sure and tell them Hawkeye brought you down.”

 

“Police? Ha, I own the local …” 

 

Tracksuit guy jumped back as a brown dog streaked across the floor and launched itself at him. Rolling his chest up towards his feet, Clint had the lock open and his legs free in five seconds only to find Philip had already taken out the two henchmen who put up a fight. The others dropped their guns and held their hands up.  

 

“Dude, You’ve got to slow down.  I’m going to get an inferiority complex.” Clint used the cuffs from his wrists on Tracksuit guy. 

 

“You could get faster,” Philip replied. 

 

The dog danced over to Clint, wagging its tail and peering up with watery blue eyes.  Patches of its fur were missing and his skin clung to his ribs. When it nudged Clint’s hand with its head, he scratched behind its ears, earning himself a doggy grin and a wet licks. 

 

“Hey there, buddy,” Clint said. “This bad man been mean to you? You’re a good boy, aren’t you? Just need a little love, that’s all.” 

 

“He’s very intelligent and really just wants to roll in the grass and chase a stick.” Philip smiled. “If he had a good home …” 

 

“You’re telling the little shit,” Clint replied. “I want no part of that conversation.

 

**LATER THAN THAT**

 

Sweat ran down Clint’s back despite the chill in the air and snow on the ground.  Running flat out, he dodged into an abandoned building, stopping to catch his breath.  Dark hair clinging to her face, Wanda bent over, hands on her knees, chest heaving. 

 

“I can’t keep them away much longer,” she said between gasps. “There’s too many of them.”

 

PIetro blurred to a halt in front of them. “I’ll carry you.” He reached for his sister and flashed Clint a grin. “Let this old man try and keep up.” 

 

“What we need is an exit strategy.” Clint thumbed on his phone, expecting to find it as blank as last time he’d checked. But a message flashed on his screen. 

 

EXFIL 19:45. MOSTLY.

 

GPS coordinates were next.  He tapped the numbers and a map popped up; X marked the spot no more than two miles from where they were. A check of his watch and he knew they could make it. 

 

“Fire up those feet, Running Man. We’ve got a ride to catch.” He forwarded the message and handed the phone to Pietro. “You know where this is?” 

 

“Bernelli’s fields.” Pietro lifted Wanda.  “I’ll take her and be right back. Don’t get killed while we’re gone.” 

 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Haul ass, will ya?” Clint ducked as gun fire sounded far too close.  

 

Pietro disappeared; Clint dashed out of another open doorway, dodging from tree to tree for what little protection they offered. He was already bleeding where a bullet had winged his forearm.  The intricate trellis of purple yarrow flowers just under his elbow had surrounded the area, slowly clotting the blood and healing the wound. 

 

In only a few seconds, Pietro was back; he slung Clint over his shoulder, grinning at Clint’s yelp of displeasure and then they were at the edge of a grassy slope where a big black plane was landing. 

 

“This is SHIELD.” Pietro rounded on him. “You sold us out!”

 

“No.” Clint put out a hand to stop him from running. “SHIELD’s gone.. ”

 

Truck engines revved in the distance, growing closer. 

 

“If it helps, Clint and I are old friends.”  Phil Coulson, this world’s Phil Coulson, stood at the top of the lowering ramp.  “He’s saved my life more than once. I owe him.”

 

“And here I thought it was Melinda who sent the message.” Clint closed the distance, bypassed the hand Phil held out, and gave him a hug. “About time you quit playing dead.”

 

“Let me guess. Jemma or Leo?” Phil chuckled as he stepped back. His eyes were shadowed, his suit hanging too big from his shoulders. 

 

“We’ve got incoming,” Melinda May’s voice rang out. 

 

“It’s alright.” Wanda pulled her brother forward. “He’s telling the truth.”

 

“Closing door,” Phil said, reaching for the ramp controls. 

 

“Hold on, we’ve got one more …” Clint turned as Philip landed behind him, folding his wings and tucking them away. “There you are. You almost had to fly yourself home.” 

 

“I see you got shot again.” He touched Clint’s arm just above the fresh scar. “I’ll check it later.” 

 

The ramp closed and the plane lifted off; Phil stared at Philip as they all wavered, getting their footing as the plane changed directions. 

 

“Wow, it’s really like looking at an old photo of me.  You’re what, 30?” Phil asked. 

 

“32.” Philip replied. “Nice to finally meet you; Clint speaks highly of you.” 

 

“I imagine.” Phil lead them through sliding doors and into a small lab. “About the whole dying thing …”

 

“Yeah, we know. Fury lied then did something outrageous and you’re dealing with the fallout.  Fitzsimmons are pretty well-known around SHIELD, so they’re easy to track.” Clint kept an eye on Wanda and Pietro who were hanging back. “Where are they anyway?”

 

Phil’s eyes shuttered. “One of my team was HYDRA; he dumped them in a cargo container and jettisoned them over the ocean. Fitz has hypoxia and brain damage.”

 

“Fuck.” Clint clenched his fist. “Did you get him?The guy who did it?” 

 

“Not yet. But we will,” Phil assured him. “Mel took it personally.”

 

“I might be able to help,” Philip spoke up.  “If it’s air deprivation at the core, I know a few things to try.”

 

“Is anyone going to explain why there are two Coulsons?” Pietro interrupted.

 

“This Phil is from this universe,” Clint motioned towards Phil. “And my Phil is from another one.”

 

“Another universe?” Pietro asked. “Are we to believe that?”

 

“Says the guy with super speed and a sister who can manipulate reality courtesy of the glowing spear of destiny.” Clint shrugged. “Welcome to my world.”

 

**EVEN LATER STILL**

 

The morning sun slanted across Philip’s sleeping face, cheek flushed from the warmth of the bed, curling tattoo of emerald and brown disappearing into the shadows of his neck.  His lips were slightly parted, soft breaths in and out; the breeze from the open window stirred his hair. 

 

Outside, misty clouds rested on the top of Cader Idris, the surface of Tal-y-llyn lake rippling, dark blue against the green grass that surrounded it. From their cottage, they could see the whole expanse of the Dysynni Valley, from the mountains that framed it to the farms sprinkled across the basin. 

 

A gentle woof and Buddy raised his head from where he was curled at Philip’s feet. 

 

“Not yet,” Clint whispered, and the dog settled back down. 

 

In the crook of his knees, Bard stood, stretched, circled, then curled back into a small ball. 

 

Sliding his fingers across Philip’s chest, Clint traced the edge of the new tattoo, skating over the rowan colored circle and the bisecting lines. The magic stirred easily, sliding out of his skin and into the bond; power lay dormant in the earth here, an ancient force that the people remembered and still revered.  Clint had dreamed all night of knights that rose from the water and kings who sat enthroned on top of mountains. 

 

“I thought you’d sleep in,” Philip mumbled, cracking his eyelids. “After how late I kept you up.” 

 

“Made some pretty impressive memories.” Clint kissed the curve of Philip’s shoulder. “Think we might have woke the local gods.” 

 

“Mmmmm.” Philip snaked his arm under Clint and pulled him close. “That’ll make today’s hike to the top of Idris interesting.  What is it they say? You either come down a poet or a madman?” 

 

“I’m already certifiable.” Clint chuckled. “I married a guy from another universe, after all.” 

 

“Here I thought you married me because you loved me,” Philip teased. 

 

“Ah, Phil, you know I do.” He tucked his nose into the crook of Philip’s neck. “Just don’t expect me to write any sonnets.” 

 

“I don’t need pretty words, Clint.” Philip grew serious. “You’re everything to me.” 

 

He’d never get used to Philip’s unfettered declarations of love or his insistence that Clint was worth all the effort; he was just damn glad that fate had brought the two of them together. 

 

“So ... “ Clint tilted his head up and grinned. “About those wings …”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tossed in a bunch of references to the MCU here, changing canon willy-nilly to my heart's content. If Steve and Bucky are bonded, that will make his transition back from the Winter Soldier easier. If Tony's brought in on the HYDRA thing, maybe he doesn't go all Ultron and Sokovia never happens. Even if it does happen, Wanda and Pietro are part of the team before that so ... Yeah. I do what I want. 
> 
> There really is a place in Western New York where you can rent a lean-to like that for the night. It's a bed and breakfast. The sacred Oak is in middle of Pennsylvania, so I collapsed some things together. 
> 
> yep, that was a direct nod to Matt Fraction's tire fire Hawkeye and the Tracksuit Mafia. A bit of John Wick too ... you can bet Philip would go to war over a dog's death and save the ones he found along the way. 
> 
> did you really think Clint would miss Jemma's present tense slip? And, hey, Philip's a healer, so ....
> 
> And that last location? Anyone get the reference? it's my next U.K. trip that I'm planning for reasons ....


End file.
